


The Dragonborn Elf: Dragonslayer

by phoenixquest



Series: Ryndoril and Ondolemar [22]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Happy Ending, M/M, Sex, Skyrim Main Quest, spoilers for Skyrim main quest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:33:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 66,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9311699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenixquest/pseuds/phoenixquest
Summary: Ryndoril takes on his destiny, traveling all over Skyrim to put the pieces of the puzzle together. Ondolemar helps him every step of the way, from the frozen Sea of Ghosts to the very top of the Throat of the World.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TWO YEARS LATER... Sorry for such a delay in getting this second part of Ryn's Dragonborn adventures out! But now, I'm incredibly proud to say, it's finally finished. To those of you who've stuck around waiting - thank you from the bottom of my heart, and I hope it's at least worth the wait. To those of you who've just started reading - I REALLY hope you enjoy! There will be spoilers for Skyrim's main quest, obviously, as this goes all the way through the end of it. It's not very smut-heavy, just a couple of scenes; the focus is more on the adventure in this fic.

“It feels a little strange to be back, after so long,” Ryndoril commented. It had taken him a while to heal from his ordeal in the Embassy, but now that he had mostly recovered, Ryndoril and Ondolemar were returning to Markarth.

“I imagine so,” Ondolemar replied quietly as they walked through the gates. He couldn’t help thinking a little about the last time _he_ was in the city – waiting for Ryndoril, not realizing the Bosmer was in trouble. He adopted a lighter tone, trying to push the thought from his mind. “Strange for me, knowing I’m not stuck within these walls anymore.”

Ryndoril smiled at him. 

“Strange in a good way?”

“Definitely,” Ondolemar nodded, following Ryndoril’s steps as the smaller elf turned toward the stairs immediately inside the gate. “I still need to retrieve my belongings from the Keep,” he added, more to remind himself than anything.

“Can we go to the house first?” Ryndoril asked, pausing with his foot on the first step. “That was a longer trip than I expected.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said kindly. “I’m sure you’ll get used to traveling again. And it wouldn’t have been so bad,” he added, “if you hadn’t insisted on bringing so much with you.”

During Ryndoril’s month of recovery at the Thalmor Embassy, he managed to collect quite a bundle of trinkets and treasures he wanted for his own. Nyslian was happy to let him keep them, as nothing he found was very important. The Ambassador had also given him a collection of her own rare potion ingredients.

“Not my fault your Embassy has pretty things,” Ryndoril grinned.

Ondolemar rolled his eyes, amused.

“I certainly hope you plan to leave some of it behind, now we’ve reached your house,” Ondolemar said as they climbed the stairs all the way up to Vlindrel Hall.

“Some of it, sure,” Ryndoril shrugged. “But you know I’m just going to find more to carry when we travel.”

“So I’m learning,” Ondolemar said wryly.

Ryndoril reached the door first and wasn’t terribly surprised when it opened without his key.

“Ryndoril?” Lydia’s voice called as he stepped inside.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Ryndoril called back, making his way into the main room from the long entry hall. He’d barely taken a step inside when Lydia was next to him, her arms flung around him in a tight hug.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she murmured as she squeezed him. He smiled as he hugged her back. “I’ve been worried ever since I got your letter; I know you said you’re okay now, but – “

“But she takes her job seriously, and was beating herself up over letting something happen to you,” Argis broke in, standing just behind Lydia and looking relieved, too.

“Well, it _is_ our job to protect him,” she said, disgruntled. She stepped back then, releasing Ryndoril. “I’m just so glad you’re alright.”

“I am,” Ryndoril assured them both. “And it’s not anyone’s fault, so stop thinking like that.” 

Lydia gave him a small smile before turning to Ondolemar.

“You saved him,” she said to the Altmer, who looked rather surprised. “Thank you, Commander.”

“You…are welcome,” Ondolemar said, perplexed.

“I know you don’t think much of us,” Lydia went on, indicating herself and Argis, “but we care about Ryndoril. And the fact that he’s the Dragonborn…well, that _means_ something to us. You…you could’ve let him stay locked up. You could’ve let him die. But you didn’t, and…we do appreciate it.” 

Ryndoril couldn’t help grinning as she finished – he was nearly as surprised as Ondolemar to hear Lydia saying these things.

“Right,” Ondolemar said uncomfortably, unable to think what else to say.

“Have you two already eaten?” Ryndoril asked, trying to get past the sticky moment.

“Yes,” Argis answered quickly, “but there’s plenty more on the fire. Help yourselves.”

“And here,” Lydia added, reaching for Ryndoril’s pack. “Let me get that bag.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said in relief, handing over his heavy pack. Argis took the one Ondolemar carried. “They were a little tiring.”

“Gods, what do you have in here?” Lydia asked as she felt the pack’s heft. “Did you rob the Embassy blind?” 

Ondolemar chuckled, surprising Ryndoril – the Altmer usually had so little patience with his Nord housecarls, but this was almost _friendly_.

“He tried to,” Ondolemar informed her.

“I should’ve assumed,” Lydia sighed, shaking her head. “Can’t walk past something shiny without snatching it. You’re in for being a pack mule if you travel with him,” she warned.

“I’ve managed to tolerate him thus far,” Ondolemar smirked with a fond look at Ryndoril.

“I’m not that bad,” Ryndoril protested.

“Right,” Lydia teased. “Well, go on and get something to eat. We’re dying to know what’s going on with all of this.”

The four sat at the dining table for a couple of hours, Ryndoril explaining everything he’d learned regarding the dragons and his destiny. Ondolemar mostly stayed quiet, not being entirely comfortable with the Nords. Ryndoril privately noted that it was an achievement just to have him sitting in the same room as them without complaining, though.

“We ought to get to the Keep, if we’re doing that tonight,” Ryndoril finally yawned. “I’m about to pass out.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar agreed, getting to his feet. “Come on, then.”

Stars shone brightly in the sky around the two moons, neither completely full but bright enough to give them light to see. The elves didn’t speak as they walked, enjoying the simple rushing sound of the waterfalls and the relative peace of the city at night.

“Remember when we first spoke in here?” Ondolemar asked fondly as they made their way through the doors of the Keep. “The night you tried to poison yourself?”

“Very funny,” Ryndoril laughed. “The night I learned you could do something that resembled smiling, you mean?” 

Ondolemar merely rolled his eyes at the Bosmer’s teasing.

“It’s been nearly a year,” the Altmer pointed out. “Isn’t that strange?”

“Wow,” Ryndoril replied, considering that. “It is, a little.” He paused, then smiled up at the Altmer. “But I can’t think of a better way to spend a year than getting to know you.”

“Agreed,” Ondolemar said, his lips twitching into a satisfied smirk. It had certainly been one of his better years.

*****

Ryndoril spent the next day organizing his belongings and making room for Ondolemar’s. It was tough to choose what to leave behind and what to travel with, as they weren’t sure how long they’d be gone or what all they might encounter in their journey. Ryndoril was used to traveling with a specific destination in mind – usually an old ruin or cave. This was more difficult to estimate.

After much debate, they had decided that Ondolemar needed a set of Elven armor to travel around Skyrim with Ryndoril; being at the Dragonborn’s side in Thalmor robes was a sure way to draw trouble. Ondolemar wasn’t happy about the idea, as he was quite fond of his robes, but he accepted – however grudgingly – that making more trouble for either of them was not the smartest plan.

Reluctantly, he bought a full set of the finest armor from the Keep’s blacksmith. The smith was no Altmer, but Ondolemar had to admit the orc was talented at what he did. Upon examining his new purchase closely, even he could not find fault with it; it was quite flawless. He spent some time enchanting it the way he preferred, making him feel better about the whole thing. Ryndoril promised to keep his Thalmor robes safely tucked away at Vlindrel Hall, assuring him they would be just fine until he needed them again.

Ryndoril’s next destination was High Hrothgar. He knew he needed to talk to Arngeir, to see if the Greybeard would tell him about the Shout that would allow him to take on Alduin. 

He briefly wondered about Esbern and Delphine – he knew the Thalmor still hadn’t caught up to them, because Nyslian was still on the lookout. He wondered if they had managed to learn anything else without him. The likelihood wasn’t high; Delphine was adamant about not going to the Greybeards herself, and there was no chance Esbern would go without her. Regardless, it wasn’t worth worrying about; he didn’t exactly want to see them again, so it didn’t matter what they knew.

With Ryndoril still not in top shape, their trip only led them as far as Rorikstead before he needed to stop and rest. The Bosmer was a little annoyed at himself; he’d traveled much farther than that in a day before with no trouble at all.

“You’re still recovering,” Ondolemar reminded him gently. “You know it will take time.”

“I still don’t like feeling this way,” Ryndoril grumbled, though he appreciated the Altmer’s kindness about it.

Erik, the young man who lived at the Frostfruit Inn in Rorikstead, was even more excited than usual to see him. It seemed the news that Ryndoril was the Dragonborn had traveled around Skyrim by now, and the young Nord was completely in awe. 

Ryndoril was happy to talk with him and share his stories, though Ondolemar found his questions and enthusiasm rather annoying. He retired to the room they’d rented before long, and Ryndoril let him go. He didn’t expect anything different from the Altmer, really; he knew how he felt about Nords.

Ondolemar was keen to set out early the next morning, not wanting to listen to more rambling from the Nord.

“He’s really not so bad,” Ryndoril said as they headed out. “He’s just…eager.”

“He’s annoying,” Ondolemar huffed, but knew the Bosmer wouldn’t see it that way. Ryndoril was much more sociable than he was, after all.

Ryndoril didn’t argue. Ondolemar hadn’t realized this was the same young Nord who’d almost gotten him killed by that giant so long ago…and Ryndoril decided it wasn’t wise to enlighten him.

*****

The Bannered Mare in Whiterun was crowded when the elves stepped inside that evening. Their journey had been longer than planned, what with rainstorms and attacks by bandits, and Ryndoril decided it would be easier to eat at the inn than to try and cook something up when they were both so tired.

Ondolemar didn’t think much of this plan, not wishing to be around the crowd of Nords, but he went along with it willingly enough. He didn’t especially feel like cooking a meal, either.

Before they could even reach the bar to order anything to eat, Ryndoril was stopped by several patrons. Ondolemar didn’t pay attention to their conversations, but he grew more impatient with each interruption; he just wanted to have dinner with Ryndoril and be done with it. The fact that so many either glowered at him or pointedly ignored him certainly didn’t help his mood.

He felt warm fingers gently squeeze his own, discreetly enough that no one would have seen the motion – Ryndoril’s silent apology. He felt slightly better at that; it was comforting that Ryndoril understood his frustration, if nothing else.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite Bosmer!” a male voice said jovially as they finally approached the bar, finding one spot that was relatively clear of people. Ondolemar frowned at the man’s familiar greeting, not wishing to be stopped yet again. “Fancy meeting you here!”

“Well, it _is_ where you met me,” Ryndoril replied dryly, putting Ondolemar on edge; he’d been protective of the Bosmer since rescuing him from the Embassy, and he didn’t like the less-than-happy tone of the elf’s voice. “Hello, Sam.”

“Come on, let’s have a drink for old time’s sake,” the Breton man invited with a grin, eyeing Ondolemar curiously. The Altmer merely glared – the name seemed like it ought to mean something to him, but he couldn’t quite remember what it was. Nonetheless, he wasn’t happy about the situation.

“I don’t think I want any of your special drinks tonight,” Ryndoril declined, rolling his eyes.

“Nah,” Sam chuckled, motioning the woman at the bar for a round. “Wouldn’t do to trick you twice in a row, no fun if you expect it. Who’s your friend?” he asked, handing Ryndoril two bottles of the wine he’d just been given and keeping the third for himself. 

Ryndoril took them warily, unsure whether to trust him, but he felt it would be rude to refuse them entirely.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril answered, nodding to the elf beside him.

“Ah, so _that’s_ the one,” Sam grinned widely, oblivious to Ondolemar’s cold glare. “I see why you were infatuated. An Altmer,” he went on, his gaze sizing up the angry elf. “Last time I had fun with your kind was during the Oblivion crisis. Now _that_ was a party!” 

Ryndoril winced at the mention of the event, knowing it wasn’t going to make Ondolemar any happier; sure enough, that was all it took for the pieces to click into place.

“Sam,” Ondolemar growled, more menacing than Ryndoril had heard in a while. He advanced upon the Breton, eyes narrowed and angry. “So you’re the one to blame.”

“Probably,” Sam nodded agreeably, taking a long drink of his wine. “But what for this time? It can be hard to keep track, you understand.”

“You know perfectly well what I am referring to,” snarled Ondolemar. Ryndoril stepped pointedly between the barstool Sam was perched on and the tall Altmer, wanting to avoid any trouble. Ondolemar towered over them both. “You nearly got him _killed_.” 

Sam burst out laughing, utterly unintimidated by the angry Altmer.

“Oh, _that_ incident,” Sam nodded reminiscently. “That _was_ a good night. He’s fine,” he added dismissively. “Nothing to be so worked up over.”

“You married him off, and _you took him away from me_ ,” Ondolemar hissed. 

Ryndoril pressed a hand against the Altmer’s chest as he tried to close in on Sam, glancing around to make sure no one was noticing the altercation. He wasn’t surprised by Ondolemar; after all they’d just been through, the Altmer hardly needed a reminder of this _now_. But they really didn’t need any trouble just then.

“Ondolemar, not here,” Ryndoril urged in a whisper. “Do you want everyone to hear - ?”

“I don’t care,” Ondolemar snapped, his angry gaze never leaving the Breton. “If you _ever_ come near him again – “

“Ondolemar!” Ryndoril gasped, his eyes widening in fear. He didn’t want to think what Sanguine would do to the elf if he was threatened. “You can’t threaten a Daedric prince like that!” 

Sam, however, was still genially grinning at them both.

“Let him go on,” Sam invited, sounding enthralled. “I’m always up for hilarity!” Ondolemar snarled at that, almost as enraged as he’d been at Elenwen, and Ryndoril had to use a good bit of his strength to keep holding the Altmer back.

“Mark my words, Daedra,” Ondolemar spat, fire burning in his green eyes as he utterly ignored Ryndoril’s attempts to move him, “if I _ever_ hear you’ve done anything to him again, anything at all, I will seek you out in Oblivion myself. I don’t care _what_ you are.” 

Though he didn’t look at all worried, Sam did look a little surprised.

“Got it bad enough to threaten a Daedric prince over your lover?” Sam asked, highly interested. “Impressive.” 

Ondolemar flushed, about to keep going, but Ryndoril cut him off.

“Ondolemar, _please_ ,” he begged quietly, still trying to hold the elf back, but Sam’s grin seemed to infuriate the Altmer further…which was, of course, the Breton’s intent.

“Ryn, let me _go_ ,” Ondolemar demanded, his eyes little more than slits in his fury. “I intend to wring this Breton’s neck for his mockery of – “

“Sam!” a new, highly excited voice burst in as someone came over to their little group, making them all start and look around. “Hurry! I’ve gathered all the tar-chickens and the horned bull is getting impatient!”

“Excellent!” Sam exclaimed, his face lighting up more than it already was. “Let’s get this show on the road, then. Listen,” he added, getting up and turning to Ryndoril. “If you want to ditch the stiff and have some real fun, we’ll be in Solitude decorating the Blue Palace.” 

Before anyone could utter another word, Sam and his friend had vanished, nowhere to be seen.

“Sounds about right,” Ryndoril sighed, unsurprised and feeling a small pang of sympathy for Solitude. Ondolemar was still fuming, directing his glare at the empty barstool now that Sam was gone from it. “Come on, let’s have some dinner,” Ryndoril said quietly.

“ _I_ am _leaving_ ,” Ondolemar snapped. “I find that I am no longer all that hungry.” He turned to go, but Ryndoril caught his arm, his gaze worried as he looked up at him.

“At least let me get something to bring back?” Ryndoril pleaded. 

Ondolemar seemed to consider for a moment, softening slightly as he looked at the Bosmer’s worried face.

“I will see you back at the house,” he acquiesced. “I…need to go.” He didn’t really want to leave Ryndoril on his own, but he couldn’t stand being at the inn a moment longer.

“I’ll be right there,” Ryndoril promised, squeezing Ondolemar’s arm gently before letting him go. He watched Ondolemar vanish before turning to order something to eat.

He felt a little guilty for insisting they try to come out tonight; he hadn’t wanted to upset Ondolemar. Sam, he knew, had been just one thing too many for the Altmer to handle. Not that he could blame Ondolemar; he hadn’t exactly been pleased to see him, either.

He left the two bottles of wine on the counter, unwilling to trust that they were unsullied by Sanguine’s influence.

Food in hand, Ryndoril headed back to the house, opening the door to find Ondolemar pacing furiously along the floor.

“You’re going to wear a groove in that,” Ryndoril ventured, a half-smile on his face as he walked over to the table. 

Ondolemar glanced up at him, and the Bosmer had barely set everything on the table before he was in the Thalmor Commander’s arms, his lips covered with a passionate kiss that made him groan.

When Ondolemar let him go, both elves were panting for breath, a flash of anger still in the Altmer’s eyes alongside something that looked like desperation.

“What’s the matter?” Ryndoril asked softly, keeping one arm wrapped around Ondolemar while the other hand came up to stroke the Altmer’s cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I – “ Ondolemar broke off, swallowing hard before continuing. He wasn’t sure what to say – he wasn’t even sure he could explain what was going on, what he was feeling. “You should not have stopped me.”

“What, from getting torn apart by a Daedric prince?” Ryndoril snorted. “I know you’re mad at him, but Divines, love, he’d kill you before you could blink.”

“Must you think so little of me?” Ondolemar asked, frowning down at the smaller elf.

“I think the world of you,” Ryndoril corrected, his voice gentle as he brushed his fingers across Ondolemar’s lips. “You know that.” 

Ondolemar let out a frustrated breath.

“The nerve of him,” he muttered viciously. “To taunt me like that.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, and he pushed himself up until he could kiss Ondolemar again. “But it’s okay. We’re both fine, and he’s gone.”

“For now,” Ondolemar muttered, though his anger was abating further in the wake of the soft kiss. “That doesn’t change what he did to you. And then to laugh about it!”

“It was sweet of you to defend me, though,” Ryndoril smiled. There had been something endearing, exciting even, about seeing Ondolemar threatening a Daedric prince on his behalf.

“Of course I did,” Ondolemar said harshly, squeezing the elf more firmly to him as though that could protect him from Sanguine. “I won’t stand by and let anyone harm you. Not…not if I can help it.” 

Ryndoril grinned Ondolemar’s favorite grin, the one where the corners of his eyes crinkled.

“You’re too kind, love,” he said, tightening his grip on the Altmer briefly. “But come on. Let’s have dinner, shall we? Silly to let him ruin our night.”

“I don’t intend to let him ruin _anything_ ,” Ondolemar replied fiercely, letting Ryndoril go. 

They sat down to eat, though Ondolemar was still far too annoyed to eat very much, preferring to pick at his food and glare moodily at it.

“You’re too worked up over this,” Ryndoril said after a few minutes of this. “Calm down, Ondolemar.”

“I didn’t like how he looked at you,” Ondolemar finally admitted, blurting out the words before he could stop them. He reddened at his confession – he hadn’t meant to say it out loud. 

Ryndoril grinned at him.

“Are you jealous?” Ryndoril asked. “You can’t tell me you were seriously bothered by that.” Ondolemar reddened further, mumbling something that Ryndoril couldn’t make out. “What was that?”

“I said, I don’t _like_ anyone else looking at you like that,” Ondolemar said, more firmly now though his cheeks still burned. 

Ryndoril laughed, rather pleased.

“He _is_ the Daedric prince of debauchery,” Ryndoril reminded his lover. Ondolemar huffed, annoyed. “You know it doesn’t matter who looks at me, love,” he added. “You’re all I’m interested in.”

“After what he did to you, how can _you_ be so indifferent about it?” Ondolemar asked, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Ryndoril chewed a bite of dinner in silence for a moment, contemplating his answer. He had been pretty furious with Sanguine after his trick, but somehow, it just didn’t seem to matter as much anymore.

“Well…it was a while ago,” Ryndoril replied slowly. “And after…” he trailed off, unsure how to phrase the next part. “After all we’ve been through, I just…” he sighed, pausing once again. “I have you,” he finished. “That’s what matters.”

“You don’t need to flatter me,” Ondolemar said, turning away. “It isn’t you I’m angry with.”

“But I’m not,” Ryndoril said seriously, moving closer to Ondolemar and laying a hand on his leg. “I mean it. Part of the reason I was so annoyed with Sam in the first place was because I…I was afraid he’d lost me my chance with you. Now I know I haven’t, and it’s easy to just…not care about the rest of it.” 

Ondolemar finally looked back, noting the sincerity in the Bosmer’s eyes before he leaned in and kissed him softly.

“That does not mean I have to like him,” Ondolemar grumbled, though it was very halfhearted. 

Ryndoril laughed.

“Definitely not,” Ryndoril agreed. 

After he finished the last of his own meal, Ryndoril got up and moved into Ondolemar’s lap, grabbing a bite of the Altmer’s dinner as he sat.

“Going to steal my food?” Ondolemar smirked. “You could’ve just ordered more, you know.”

“Not like you were eating it,” Ryndoril teased, bringing the chicken to the other mer’s mouth. “Come on. I know you’re annoyed, but at least eat something.” 

Ondolemar rolled his eyes, but took the proffered bite of chicken from the Bosmer’s fingers.

“I am not a child,” he informed Ryndoril. “I am fully capable of feeding myself.”

“Yeah, but this way’s more fun,” Ryndoril grinned, feeding the elf another bite. 

Ondolemar took the chicken again, but lingered with his lips around Ryndoril’s fingers, flicking his tongue over them before letting go. Ryndoril’s breath hitched at the suggestive action, letting his hand fall away as the Altmer swallowed his food.

“Well? Must I continue being fed like a toddler?” Ondolemar inquired, catching Ryndoril’s hand and bringing it back to his mouth. He sucked a digit between his lips then, watching the Bosmer’s eyes darken with want. He felt a fierce need for the Bosmer, to remind himself that all was well, that they had each other and were safe. They’d been too tired for much intimacy since leaving the Embassy, and he was realizing how much he’d missed it.

“Seems like you have a better idea,” Ryndoril acknowledged, pulling his fingers away and crushing his lips to Ondolemar’s. He twisted so he was straddling Ondolemar’s lap, unlacing the neck of the Altmer’s tunic and pulling it over his head.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed, feeling the fingertips sliding over his skin as he reached to pull the smaller elf’s tunic off, too.

“Hmm?” Ryndoril hummed, eagerly assisting Ondolemar in undressing him, both frantically removing clothes until they were bared before one another.

“I need you,” Ondolemar confessed, pulling the elf to him and kissing him deeply.

“I’m right here,” Ryndoril assured him, his voice low and serious. “You have me, my love.”

“I need to feel you inside me,” Ondolemar said, reddening slightly. Ryndoril grinned – he wondered if the Altmer would always react that way to confessing such explicit feelings. “I simply – “

“Shh,” Ryndoril said kindly, rubbing Ondolemar’s arm in understanding when he stuttered into quiet. “I know.” He pressed a kiss to the Altmer’s chest, over his beating heart. “C’mon,” he added, pulling away and tugging Ondolemar’s hand to lead him up to the bedroom.

Ondolemar sat on the bed, eagerly obeying when Ryndoril pushed him onto his back so the Bosmer could tower over him, kissing him softly.

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to do this to you,” Ryndoril said with a grin, his hair falling around both their faces. 

Ondolemar smiled back faintly.

“It has,” he murmured, trying and failing to keep from considering why. After all, it had only been so long because Ryndoril had been so injured…

“Hey,” Ryndoril scolded mildly, leaning on his elbows to stroke the Altmer’s cheek with one hand. “None of that. I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“I…apologize,” Ondolemar said sheepishly. “I don’t mean to be like this, Ryn.”

“I know,” Ryndoril smiled, his voice gentle and understanding. “Don’t worry, love.” He sighed, suddenly highly dramatic. “I suppose I’ll just have to _make_ you stop thinking about other things.” 

Ondolemar managed a real smile then.

“Perhaps you shall,” he agreed, not at all averse to the idea. 

Ryndoril chuckled, tilting his head to kiss Ondolemar’s chin.

“Then allow me,” Ryndoril murmured, softly sliding his lips up Ondolemar’s jaw and finally landing on his ear, making the larger elf tremble beneath him. “I love you, Ondolemar,” he whispered into the mer’s ear. “I have loved you for months.” He heard the elf whimper and pressed another kiss to the pointed ear. “I should’ve told you ages ago,” he continued, flicking his tongue out to trace the eartip briefly, making Ondolemar twitch beneath him. “But now you know.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar whispered, bringing trembling hands around to hold the smaller elf. “I – me, too.” 

Ryndoril smiled.

“I know, it’s not something you’re going to say all the time,” Ryndoril assured him. “I understand. But I just wanted you to know.” He slid his tongue along the pointed eartip once more before returning to kissing the Altmer’s mouth, shuddering when Ondolemar squeezed him tighter. He could feel the larger elf’s length between them and rocked against it, making Ondolemar groan.

Ryndoril made a similar noise in return when Ondolemar’s hands traveled down his back, gripping his buttocks and pulling the elf to him, recreating the friction from a moment before.

“Fuck,” Ondolemar hissed when Ryndoril broke their kiss.

“Yes,” Ryndoril agreed breathlessly. 

He began to slide down Ondolemar’s body, kissing everywhere as he went. His tongue flicked over a nipple, causing Ondolemar to squirm, so he did it once, twice more. Ondolemar’s fingers were clenched in his hair now, the other hand clutching at his upper arm.

The Bosmer’s lips teased further down, pressing gentle kisses along Ondolemar’s stomach, across his hips. They paused for a moment upon finding the Altmer’s brand, the brand Ryndoril now shared. Ondolemar stiffened, worried at the Bosmer’s hesitance.

“Ryn?” he asked softly, gentle fingers stroking the elf’s head. He felt a soft breath against his hip, then lips pressed firmly on the brand once more.

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril murmured, as much to Ondolemar as to himself. He hadn’t thought about it very much since discovering his own, but it wasn’t something he wanted to overthink at the moment. He had more fun things to do. Taking a breath to steady himself, he looked up at Ondolemar and smiled. “I’m alright.” 

Ondolemar returned the smile.

“Good,” the Altmer said, continuing to pet Ryndoril’s head. The Bosmer pressed his lips to Ondolemar’s thigh, kissing his way over to the mer’s length. “Nngh,” Ondolemar groaned, his fingers tightening in Ryndoril’s hair as the smaller elf flicked his tongue against the head of his cock.

Ondolemar’s moans of pleasure were music to Ryndoril’s ears; he hadn’t been able to do this for the mer for so long, and he’d wanted to so very much. Tasting him again was divine. He knew if he wasn’t careful, he was going to end up letting the Altmer spend in his mouth before they got any farther; much fun as that was, he wanted something else tonight.

“Hand me the oil on the nightstand, love,” Ryndoril murmured, pulling back just enough to speak before fully enveloping the Altmer in his mouth. 

Ondolemar groaned loudly at the wet heat before reaching over with a trembling hand to find the oil, finally pressing it into Ryndoril’s hand. 

Ryndoril didn’t pause in his long, slow licks of the Altmer’s cock as he opened the bottle and covered his fingers with the oil. Pressing the cork back into place, he slid his slickened fingers along Ondolemar’s thigh, pressing between his cheeks to the tight ring of muscle behind.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar moaned desperately, his hands finding the elf’s red hair again. 

Ryndoril pulled back to gently flick his tongue against the tip of Ondolemar’s cock while his fingers probed the elf’s entrance, much slower and gentler than he knew Ondolemar would prefer. 

“Dammit, Ryndoril, don’t tease,” Ondolemar panted. “Please…it’s been too long. I need….I need you. Ahh,” he ended with a groan as Ryndoril sucked him deeply into his throat, inserting a finger at the same time. “Fuck.”

Ryndoril kept his pace slow, not wanting to get the elf too close yet, stretching him and preparing him, adding a finger and making Ondolemar louder. He could feel Ondolemar twitching, trying to control himself, and thought he’d better not put it off much longer. Gazing up into Ondolemar’s eyes, Ryndoril pulled back and released him with a wet sound, sliding his fingers from the mer’s opening and spreading his legs farther.

“Ready for this?” Ryndoril asked quietly, grabbing the bottle of oil once more to coat his length with it.

“Yes,” Ondolemar choked, his voice almost a sob. “Please, Ryn, I need you…so much.” 

Ryndoril smiled, tossing aside the oil again and orienting himself to press against Ondolemar’s entrance. He could feel the Altmer writhing, desperately trying to move himself closer, to impale himself upon Ryndoril’s length. The smaller elf stilled him, placing a gentle hand on his leg, and Ondolemar looked up at him with desperation in his eyes.

“I need you, too,” Ryndoril murmured before pushing slowly into the larger mer. Their groans mingled in the quiet of the house, both filled with delicious sensation. 

Ondolemar whimpered as Ryndoril slid all the way into him, his fingers coming up to clutch desperately at the Bosmer’s hips. 

Ryndoril smiled, leaning over the Altmer. “Okay?”

“I missed this,” Ondolemar breathed, squeezing Ryndoril’s hips. “I missed this so much.”

“Gods,” Ryndoril groaned, hearing the need in the elf’s voice and feeling it course through him, too. “So have I, my love.” He began thrusting then, slowly at first, then picking up the pace as Ondolemar reached for his cock and began to stroke himself. “That’s right, love,” Ryndoril encouraged longingly. He wanted to touch the Altmer himself, but he needed both arms to support himself – he still wasn’t as strong as he’d like to be.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar panted, straining. “I need – I don’t want to wait.”

“Then don’t,” Ryndoril said. “I want you to let go. I want you to come for me, Ondolemar. Come with me inside y-aaahhh!” Ryndoril cried as the Altmer tensed, his release making his muscles tighten around the Bosmer. “Yes!” Ryndoril encouraged, near the edge of his own release as Ondolemar moaned in desperate pleasure. 

A few more thrusts and Ryndoril joined him, spilling inside the Altmer with a harsh cry of his name.

He collapsed on top of the larger elf, panting for breath and utterly spent. Ondolemar’s release was sticky where their skin met, but Ryndoril didn’t much care at the moment – even less after Ondolemar’s arms encircled him in a loving embrace.

“Auri-El, I love you,” Ondolemar murmured, squeezing the smaller elf to him and kissing the top of his head. “You’re amazing, Ryn.” 

Ryndoril breathed out a short laugh.

“Love you too,” he murmured, tiredly kissing Ondolemar’s bare chest. He managed to gather the strength to move, pushing himself off the larger elf and finding a linen by the bed to clean them both up a little. He’d barely finished when Ondolemar pulled him back down onto the bed, smiling and content.

“Tired?” he asked, settling Ryndoril’s head on his chest and stroking through the red hair.

“It’s been a long day,” Ryndoril admitted, and for once he was the one who could barely keep his eyes open. “You seem to be less annoyed about Sam now, though.” 

Ondolemar snorted. Of course Ryndoril would mention that.

“I meant what I said,” he muttered protectively. “I would go after him.” 

Ryndoril smiled, squeezing Ondolemar.

“I know,” he murmured gratefully. “So protective.”

“As much as I am able,” Ondolemar promised him softly. “Go to sleep, Ryn. Rest.” It didn’t take long for the Bosmer to obey, his breathing deep and gentle within moment.

Ondolemar felt strangely awake, though. It _had_ been a long day, and as he was the one who usually fell asleep after they were together, it made little sense. He lay on the bed with his eyes closed, petting Ryndoril’s hair with gentle fingers, his thoughts on all that had happened since he’d met the smaller elf.

Just a year ago, he’d been little more than a Thalmor Commander. His purpose in life was to carry out the orders of the Dominion…and of course, put up with Elenwen whenever she decided to visit. Sitting around the keep in Markarth day after day, his existence rather dull, but prestigious nonetheless.

Then this strange little elf had come along with his intriguing smile and barely-fathomable kindness toward the Altmer. Those who typically dealt with him were curt, perhaps verging on polite at times, but certainly no one was _kind_. Those in his daily life who cared at all about him had cared because he was a high-ranking Thalmor agent.

Ryndoril didn’t seem to care about that at all. Ondolemar had been astonished that night, the night they’d spent talking, when Ryndoril had insisted he “talk like a person rather than a Thalmor”. He’d obviously never fallen for anyone else like he had for Ryndoril before, but even then, in the very beginning, he hadn’t been able to get the little elf out of his mind.

Over the course of that year, he’d gone from caring little about most others to being head-over-heels in love. To finding simple joys in life. To being able to leave the Keep, and remembering why he liked Skyrim to begin with. It was amazing, really, how much had changed. How much _he_ had changed. He was still disdainful of practically everyone, but it wasn’t the strongest thing he felt anymore. Though he still took his duty seriously, it was no longer the most important thing to him, catching Talos worshippers.

He’d found purpose, he’d found joy…he’d found, strange as it was to admit it, _home_. He was, more than he had been in many years, happy.

With a gentle squeeze of the Bosmer in his arms, Ondolemar shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

When the two elves awoke the next morning, they decided to go ahead and get moving, as the trip to Ivarstead would surely take a while. 

“Get that fire going for me, would you, love?” Ryndoril asked as they got ready, looking around for the oats he’d bought from the inn the night before. He thought a hearty breakfast would be a good start to their trip.

“Why don’t you do it?” Ondolemar asked, curious. “I haven’t seen you use a fire spell in a long time.” Ryndoril stilled in his search, not looking at Ondolemar, and the Altmer frowned. “Ryn?”

“I – I’m looking for something,” Ryndoril stammered. “Just…light it, can’t you?”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said gently, standing beside the Bosmer and putting a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” Ryndoril replied quickly, his ears turning red even as he willed them not to. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just…get it in a minute myself.”

Ondolemar felt his heart sink; was the elf afraid of fire now, after his experience in the Embassy? Or perhaps afraid of his magic?

Ryndoril turned away from Ondolemar entirely, trying to control his breathing and not betray his feelings. It wasn’t working; he could feel the Altmer’s eyes burning into him, even without looking.

“Ryndoril, please,” Ondolemar coaxed, tightening his grip on the Bosmer’s shoulder. “Tell me what’s bothering you.”

“I can’t,” Ryndoril breathed, so softly that Ondolemar almost didn’t hear it.

“What?” Ondolemar questioned, unsure he’d even heard it right. “You can’t?” Ryndoril nodded slowly, still refusing to look at him. “Can’t what? Tell me?”

“I…can’t light the fire,” Ryndoril mumbled. He sounded more ashamed than Ondolemar had ever heard him.

“Why not?” Ondolemar pressed.

“I’m not sure ,” Ryndoril whispered, his voice shaking. As the Bosmer still refused to look at him, Ondolemar pulled him into his arms, Ryndoril’s back against his chest as he held him close. “I just…know that I can’t.”

“Can’t perform any magic,” Ondolemar clarified.

“No,” Ryndoril confirmed. “None. Not like I could do much before…you already knew that…but now I can’t…can’t even light a stupid _fire_ ,” he choked. 

Ondolemar squeezed him gently, resting his head atop the Bosmer’s.

“That’s alright,” Ondolemar assured him. “I apologize for pushing. I didn’t know.” He wasn’t sure he understood why this bothered Ryndoril so much; it wasn’t as though he’d made much use of his magic to begin with. But he was determined to comfort him, all the same.

“Even more useless a mer than when you first met me,” Ryndoril snorted, a tone of derision in his thick voice. 

Ondolemar paused for a moment, shocked.

“Useless?” he repeated in amazement. “Ryndoril, you cannot truly think that.”

“I know you thought it was stupid that I could barely conjure a little fireball before,” Ryndoril sniffled. 

Ondolemar felt guilt burning inside him; had he really been so disdainful of it? He hadn’t meant to be, but then…well, he knew he’d changed a lot since meeting Ryndoril. Perhaps he’d been ruder than he remembered.

“I never thought it was stupid,” he informed Ryndoril. “I was surprised. Most mer can perform magic. That was all it was.” He paused a moment, kissing the top of Ryndoril’s head before continuing. “And you most certainly are not _useless_ , by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Sorry,” Ryndoril said, allowing himself another small sniff. “I just…I know you think it’s important. And I can’t…I just can’t anymore…”

“Listen to me,” Ondolemar said firmly, turning the Bosmer to face him and lifting the smaller elf’s chin so he could look into his eyes. The beautiful brown was obscured with tears in his shame. “ _You_ are what is important to me,” he insisted. “I don’t give a damn if you can’t so much as _comprehend_ a spell.”

“It’s not right for an elf,” Ryndoril muttered, casting his eyes downward once more. 

Ondolemar let go of his stubbled chin and pulled the elf to him, kissing his forehead.

“I give my sincerest apology for ever giving you that impression,” Ondolemar murmured against the elf’s temple. “I’ve known plenty of mer who did not use magic _regularly_ , and none of them was less of an elf for it.”

They stood there for a few moments longer, Ryndoril enveloped in Ondolemar’s soothing embrace as he tried to get himself under control.

Ondolemar could hardly believe this bothered Ryndoril so much. Cocky, self-assured Ryndoril. It seemed the Bosmer’s time in the Embassy dungeon affected him more than Ondolemar had realized.

“Sorry,” Ryndoril said roughly after a short time. “It just…makes me feel…” he blew out a breath, trying to find the right word. “Inadequate.”

“How long have you known about this?” Ondolemar asked gently, pulling back to look at Ryndoril properly again.

“I tried it two weeks ago at the Embassy,” Ryndoril answered, his cheeks reddening along with his ears. “I was curious. But I couldn’t…nothing happened.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ondolemar wondered, brushing the Bosmer’s cheek with a gentle finger. “I had no idea.”

“I didn’t want you to know,” Ryndoril confessed. “I didn’t want you to think I was…broken. After everything that happened….” He trailed off, self-conscious. “I already felt weak and pathetic. I didn’t want to make _you_ think I was, too.”

Ondolemar sighed, hurting for Ryndoril; he wished he had known, he wished he could’ve done something. Could have reassured the Bosmer. Could have made him feel better. At the very least, could have let him know he was fine.

“I could never,” Ondolemar informed him. “After everything I’ve seen from you – you think your inability to conjure a few flames is going to make me think less of you? You’ve lost your mind.”

Ryndoril managed a small smile at the teasing words.

“It just felt awful,” he explained. “Like…I’m messed up now. I guess it had something to do with – “ he broke off, gulping. “With what Elenwen did to me. Like maybe I’m weaker than I thought. Here I was, thinking I’d overcome everything she put me through, and then…this….”

“My dear Ryndoril,” Ondolemar breathed, his heart aching for the elf. He pressed one hand to Ryndoril’s cheek and ran the other soothingly though his hair. “There is nothing weak about you. Even if you _never_ overcome everything. You are still one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

With that declaration made, Ondolemar leaned down to give Ryndoril a deep kiss, trying to ensure he knew just how much the Altmer meant the words.

*****

After spending a night in Ivarstead, Ryndoril and Ondolemar began their journey up the Seven Thousand Steps. Ondolemar had never made the trip before; even when he’d traveled around Skyrim with the other Justiciars, he’d never had any reason to bother with the Throat of the World. 

Ryndoril, having made the trip twice already, assured him that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. Then the snowstorm hit.

A little less than halfway up the mountain path, snow began to fall, thick and fast enough to obscure their view for more than a few feet. They doggedly trudged onward, determined to make it to the top, but it was slow going. When the wind all but blinded them, whipping past furiously, they realized they had no choice but to stop.

“Perhaps we should not travel together on mountains,” Ondolemar smirked as they huddled together, having found a small recess in the rock to shelter them from the wind. He’d started a small fire for them so they could at least warm up a trifle.

“We don’t seem to have good luck with them, do we?” Ryndoril agreed with a laugh, shivering despite the fire. “I swear, this didn’t happen the other times I came up.”

“Are you attempting to say I’m back luck?” Ondolemar demanded, pretending to be offended.

“I’m attempting to say that Kynareth must hate me,” Ryndoril chuckled, gratefully moving into the Altmer’s warmer embrace. “But at any rate, I’d rather be here with you than on my own.”

Ondolemar smiled fondly, kissing the top of the Bosmer’s head.

*****

The hour was late when they finally arrived at High Hrothgar, having waited out the worst of the storm and then having to struggle through the fresh blanket of snow it had lain down. Both were exhausted, freezing, and hungry, and therefore deeply grateful to see the hall looming in front of them.

Ryndoril pushed open one of the great doors, moving into the relative warmth of the hall with Ondolemar behind him. He expected the Greybeards would have been asleep, due to the late hour, and was therefore surprised to find Arngeir look up as he walked inside.

“Ah, Dragonborn, you have returned,” the man said, pleased. “To what do we owe the pleasure of your presence this time?”

“I have some questions for you,” Ryndoril answered wearily. “I don’t want to be rude, but could this wait until morning? We hit a storm on the way up, and we’re very tired.”

“As you wish, Dragonborn,” Arngeir nodded, though his tone was less pleased as he took in Ryndoril’s companion. “Will your friend require a bed as well?”

“We’ll stay together,” Ryndoril replied firmly. “You don’t need to worry about him. Can I use the same room I used before?”

“You may,” Arngeir allowed. “We shall speak further in the morning, then.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said in relief. “C’mon,” he added to Ondolemar, motioning for the Altmer to follow him as he led the way to the room he knew well enough by now.

They settled into the room, Ondolemar lighting a fire in the small fireplace so they could both hang their soaking clothes to dry overnight. The bed was not as cozy and warm as either would have liked, but they were both too tired to care much.

“He didn’t like me being here,” Ondolemar commented as he pulled the still-chilled Bosmer into his arms. “Perhaps I should not have accompanied you.”

“Well, he’ll have to get over it,” Ryndoril said, pressing a gentle kiss to Ondolemar’s chest as he snuggled close. “I’m the Dragonborn, and I can take whoever I want with me when I go places.”

“Yes, I suppose so,” Ondolemar chuckled softly. “Do you know, it’s a bit strange to hear everyone refer to you that way? The Greybeards, a few of those in Whiterun, the man at the inn in Ivarstead. The young man in Rorikstead. They simply revere you.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril sighed a little with the word, making a face. “It feels a little weird, honestly. I mean, I knew most of these people before I found out I was Dragonborn, but now it’s like I’m some…famous hero or something.”

“Well, you are,” Ondolemar pointed out. “The Dragonborn is a highly venerated hero, particularly here in Skyrim. And it’s been so long since there was one.”

“But I haven’t really done anything yet,” Ryndoril frowned. “I mean yeah, I’ve killed a couple dragons – with help – and I can Shout. But this whole saving-the-world stuff…I haven’t done anything remarkable.”

“It is enough that you are destined to,” Ondolemar said. “Legends have told of your existence, but the fact that you are here – that they can see you with their own eyes – proves that you’re more than a legend. It gives people hope.”

“I don’t think I like that kind of pressure,” Ryndoril snorted, making Ondolemar laugh and squeeze him gently.

“I’ve no doubt you’ll live up to it, love,” he murmured. “Get some rest. We both need it.”

“Good night,” Ryndoril replied with a soft kiss to Ondolemar’s chin.

*****

The following morning’s conversation did not go as well as Ryndoril had hoped.

Arngeir was furious that Ryndoril would even ask about such a thing; he couldn’t believe the Bosmer had turned away from the “Way of the Voice” they’d tried to teach him. Arngeir refused to help Ryndoril until he “returned to the path of wisdom”, as the old Nord put it.

Ryndoril was frustrated by this nonsense; how could it be considered wisdom to just allow the world to end, to turn away from what he was meant to do?

After trying, fruitlessly, to argue with the man, Ryndoril finally gave up and started to walk away. He really didn’t know what he could possibly do now; only the Blades and the Greybeards knew anything about the dragons, and since the Blades didn’t know and the Greybeards wouldn’t help, he was stuck.

Before he got out of the room, however, another of the Greybeards approached, motioning for him to hold on before speaking to Arngeir.

Ryndoril didn’t know what the words meant, but he knew they were in the Dragon language. Each word caused the very walls to shake; it was intimidating to watch the Greybeards talk, the few times he’d seen it. This was no different. He paused to listen anyway, curiosity getting the better of him, but then realized he was being rather rude by eavesdropping. He turned to go again.

“Dragonborn, wait,” Arngeir stopped him. Ryndoril turned to see the man looking angry but resigned, while the other Greybeard stared at him with a mild curiosity. “I…do not approve of the path you have chosen for yourself. Yet Master Einarth has reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make.” He sounded bitter.

“Whose is it, then?” Ryndoril asked, sure he wasn’t going to like the answer. Undoubtedly the man was going to tell him to pray to Kynareth or something equally useless.

“Paarthurnax,” Arngeir replied. “He is our leader. He surpasses us all in his master of the Way of the Voice.”

“Oh,” Ryndoril said, disappointed. Surely whoever Arngeir answered to was going to be even more difficult to persuade. “If he’s your leader, why haven’t I met him yet?”

“He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain,” Arngeir said, a heaviness to his voice that said all too clearly that he did not want to be giving this information to Ryndoril. “He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.”

“I’m sure it is,” Ryndoril replied, trying to sound polite. He was liking this less and less; a leader of the Greybeards, who never spoke to outsiders? This was going to be impossible. He thought he might have more luck with Kynareth. “So how do I get up there to meet him?” 

“We will teach you a Shout,” Arngeir informed him. “It will allow you to clear the path to Paarthurnax. Come with me.”

Ryndoril followed the old Nord as he beckoned, not sure that he felt like wasting his time on this. He was being sent to talk to an older, most likely far more stubborn member of the Greybeards – would it really matter? But he didn’t have much of a choice – he didn’t have any other leads, after all.

Ondolemar, who had been looking around inside the hall, spotted them as they headed for the doors to the courtyard.

“What have you learned?” he asked, hurrying over to Ryndoril.

“Not much,” Ryndoril said quietly so they Greybeards wouldn’t hear. “They’re not happy with me, or at least Arngeir isn’t. They’re going to teach me a new Shout so I can go up to the peak of the mountain and meet this leader of theirs.”

“Leader?” Ondolemar was puzzled. “I thought you’d met them all.”

“Me, too,” Ryndoril nodded. “But…I just have to play by their rules for now. I don’t have anything better to go on.”

“So you’re going learn a new Shout?” Ondolemar said, eyes lighting up eagerly.

Ryndoril grinned at him, unsurprised by the Altmer’s excitement.

“I am,” Ryndoril told him. “You want to see?”

“Of course!” Ondolemar proceeded to follow Ryndoril and the Greybeards into the courtyard. 

As he’d done before when the Greybeards taught him, Ryndoril watched the Shouts appear on the stone-covered ground, feeling their power sinking into him as he neared each one. Once Ryndoril understood the third, Arngeir turned to him, anger in his eyes.

“I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies,” Arngeir told him, a chill in his voice. “This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well.” With a small bow toward Ryndoril, the essence of the Shout moved from Arngeir and washed over Ryndoril.

_Lok; Sky. Vah; Spring. Koor; Summer._

Ondolemar looked on in complete fascination. He’d never seen anything like this. It was like magic, but something far deeper. Otherworldly.

“Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a short time,” Arngeir informed Ryndoril as he came back into himself. “The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, and not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit.”

“Perilous, I can handle,” Ryndoril said with a grin, invigorated by learning the new Shout and feeling more optimistic. “Thank you, Arngeir. I know you don’t like this, but thank you.” He turned to Ondolemar then, eager to set out on the next part of their journey. “Ready? It’s still early enough to go – “

“No,” Arngeir interrupted sternly. “You will not take anyone with you, Dragonborn. You are the only one who is permitted to see Paarthurnax.”

“You’re kidding me,” Ryndoril said, his smile fading. “You just told me how dangerous it is; I’m supposed to do it alone?”

“Dangerous or not, you are the Dragonborn, only you will go,” Arngeir said, crossing his arms. “I will not allow any other on that path. This is not up for argument.”

Ryndoril groaned, annoyed, and saw Ondolemar standing close, looking even less pleased. The Altmer opened his mouth to argue with Arngeir, but Ryndoril cut him off.

“Fine,” Ryndoril said, annoyed but knowing it was pointless to argue. “You will let him stay here until I return, then,” he demanded, “and you won’t bother him. Understood?”

“If your friend wishes to remain here to wait on you, he may,” Arngeir grimaced. “I would not send him away.” The tone of his voice told Ryndoril quite clearly that was exactly what the Greybeard _wished_ to do, even if he wasn’t _going_ to.

“Right,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head and walking over to Ondolemar, taking the mer’s hand.

“Are you really going to do this on your own?” Ondolemar demanded in a quiet whisper, his eyes burning with anger.

“I have to,” Ryndoril muttered, squeezing Ondolemar’s fingers to let the Altmer know he wasn’t any happier about it. “I’m sorry, love, but unless _you_ know this Shout…I have to see if this Paarthurnax will help me.”

“And has it not occurred to you that they could be sending you to your death for defying their wishes?”

“I don’t think so,” Ryndoril shook his head. “Whether I follow their path or not, I’m still the Dragonborn, and they still revere me. They wouldn’t get me killed. There has to be something in the Way of the Voice about not murdering the Dragonborn, right?” he added, grinning.

Ondolemar even gave a small smile at the Bosmer’s humor.

“I don’t like it,” the Altmer sighed, resigned. “What right do they have to keep me from going with you?”

“I know,” Ryndoril agreed. “But I don’t want to argue with them over it; it’s just wasting time. I promise, love, I’ll be fine. Trust me.”

“I always do,” Ondolemar grumbled. “And look where it’s got you before.”

“Always ending up fine?” Ryndoril teased, making Ondolemar snort out a breath.

“Be careful, Ryn,” Ondolemar pleaded, squeezing Ryndoril’s fingers.

“Always, my love,” Ryndoril grinned, standing on his toes to give the taller elf a parting kiss.

Steeling himself for a difficult journey, he started up the mountain.


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Drem yol lok_. Greetings, _wunduniik_. I am Paarthurnax.”

Ryndoril stood frozen in shock. He was looking at a dragon. An ancient, white, and apparently _friendly_ dragon. His bow fell limply to his side as the dragon spoke – he wasn’t about to attack it if it wasn’t going to attack him.

“Paarthurnax?” Ryndoril croaked, hardly able to even get the word out in his surprise.

“Who are you?” the dragon mused. “What brings you to my _strunmah_ …my mountain?” His voice was deep, gravelly, and slow; he sounded as old as time itself.

Ryndoril continued to stare for a minute before shaking himself back into reality. The dragon was waiting for his answer.

“Sorry,” he said quickly. “I just…wasn’t expecting you to be a dragon.”

“I am as my father Akatosh made me,” Paarthurnax replied, and Ryndoril could swear he sounded amused. “As are you… _Dovahkiin_.”

So the dragon already knew who he was. He should’ve expected that, somehow.

Paarthurnax continued to speak as Ryndoril tried to find his voice. “Tell me. Why do you come here, _volaan_? Why do you intrude on my meditation?”

“Oh,” Ryndoril said, eyes wide. This was too big to take in. “I – I didn’t mean to intrude,” he stammered. “I just – well – I need to know the Dragonrend shout. Can you teach me?”

It seemed a little wrong, rude even, to jump right in with that, but he truthfully couldn’t think what _else_ to say.

“ _Drem_ ,” Paarthurnax spoke. “Patience. There are formalities that must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first,” he added. “Hear my Thu’um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!”

With that, the dragon turned to the stone wall nearby and directed a Shout at it. “ _Yol…toor shul_!” Fire sprayed from his mouth as the words were formed, and when it died away, there was a word glowing on the wall – much like the one he’d seen in the old ruin, Ustengrav.

Something deep inside Ryndoril, something primal, told him what he needed to do; he walked close to the word, just as he had in the ruin, and the word seemed to envelop him. Wind rushed in his ears, power almost knocking him off his feet, then stopping as abruptly as it began.

“A gift, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax explained as Ryndoril turned back to him. “ _Yol_. Understand fire as the dov do.”

Ryndoril stood as another wind ruffled past him, as it did when the Greybeards gifted him their knowledge of a word. As it swept around him, he felt the word – _Yol. Fire_. It was as much within him as without.

“Th-thank you,” Ryndoril stuttered, still trying to come to terms with the fact that he was talking to a dragon. Who had just taught him a new Shout. That could set things on fire.

He briefly wondered if he’d hit his head on the way up the Seven Thousand Steps and this was some crazy dream.

“Now, show me what you can do,” Paarthurnax requested. “Greet me not as elf, but as dovah!”

Ryndoril hesitated for a minute; did the dragon really want him to Shout fire at him? But when the dragon waited expectantly, watching Ryndoril, he gathered up his courage and went for it.

The sensation was strange; the fire streamed from his mouth, just as it had from Paarthurnax’s, but it didn’t burn him. He felt pleasantly warm; the sensation was quite enjoyable. He laughed with sheer exhilaration when he was done. This shout was going to be very useful. He could hardly wait to show Ondolemar that he could produce fire without using any magic at all.

“Ahh, yes,” Paarthurnax said, pleased. “The dragon blood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind. So. You have made your way here to me. No easy task for a _joor_ …mortal. Even for one of _Dovah Sos_. Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?”

Ryndoril explained his request to the old dragon, telling him everything; how he was supposed to defeat Alduin, how he had no idea how to learn the Dragonrend shout. It was a long conversation; Paarthurnax seemed very interested in him, and Ryndoril got the feeling he was being tested by the old dragon. 

Ryndoril was pleasantly surprised at how helpful Paarthurnax was being; from the Greybeards to the Blades, no one else had bothered to give him useful information from the start. The dragon was happy to answer all of Ryndoril’s questions as well as he was able, and was truly apologetic when he couldn’t answer. Ryndoril decided he really liked him.

The sun began to set, despite how early Ryndoril had set out. Regretfully, he bid Paarthurnax goodbye; he didn’t care for the idea of heading back down to High Hrothgar in the dark.

He had more answers now than he had when he’d gone up the mountain, that much was certain. Unfortunately, he reflected as he Shouted his way back down from the tip of the mountain, there still seemed to be a long way to go.

Right now, though, he could hardly wait to tell Ondolemar about his day.

*****

“Well?” Arngeir demanded as Ryndoril walked through the doors. He was immediately grateful for the warmth inside; the setting sun had done little to keep him warm on his journey back down from the windy peak. “Did Paarthurnax teach you Dragonrend?”

“He didn’t know it,” Ryndoril shrugged. “But he helped me. I know how I might be able to learn it now.”

Arngeir sighed, looking resigned. He obviously didn’t like what he was hearing.

“I will have to trust to Paarthurnax’s judgment,” he said to Ryndoril. “Your companion awaits you in your room,” he added, waving a hand toward the hall. “I suggest you inform him that you have returned safely.”

Without another word, Arngeir walked away. Ryndoril couldn’t help but grin; he was sure Ondolemar had been worried about him, and no doubt taken some of his anxiety out on the Greybeards.

When Ryndoril reached his room, the fire was roaring in the fireplace and Ondolemar was lying on the bed, dozing. Smiling at the refreshing sight of his lover, Ryndoril put his pack and weapons down before walking over to the Altmer and kissing his forehead. Ondolemar stirred as Ryndoril took a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Ryn!” Ondolemar exclaimed hoarsely upon seeing the Bosmer. “You’re back!”

“I am,” Ryndoril agreed. “And I have a lot to tell you. Have you eaten?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar nodded, “but there’s still some stew in the pot, if you’d like it.”

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril smiled, squeezing Ondolemar’s hand as he got up to get himself some food.

“You’ve been gone for hours,” Ondolemar said as he watched the Bosmer. “I was worried. Was it far?”

“Not really,” Ryndoril said, sitting back down with his dinner. “Paarthurnax just had a lot to tell me.”

“So you did get to meet him?” Ondolemar asked eagerly, sitting up. “Did he teach you this Shout?”

“Nah,” Ryndoril said around a mouthful of stew. “He doesn’t know it,” he added after swallowing. “But he told me how I might learn it.”

“Why doesn’t he know it?” Ondolemar demanded. “I thought these Greybeards were supposed to be experts on all of this?”

“Well, if there was ever an expert, it’d be him,” Ryndoril grinned. “He’s a dragon.”

Ondolemar’s mouth fell open as he stared at the smaller elf, unsure whether to believe him.

“You’re joking,” he finally whispered.

“Nope,” Ryndoril promised him, continuing to eat his stew. “I got up there, a dragon flew down at me, I got ready to shoot him, and then he talked to me. He was actually really great,” he added. “More helpful than anyone else has been about any of this, that’s for sure.”

“A dragon?” Ondolemar asked, eyes wide. “You really spoke with a _dragon_?”

“I know,” Ryndoril laughed. “I’m still trying to figure out if it was real or I’m dreaming. But he told me that he can’t know this Shout; it was made by humans, and since it’s meant to harm dragons, they can’t really understand it.”

“Well, damn it,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head in disappointment. “It’s a shame he couldn’t tell you. Who is left that would know it, then?”

“Well,” Ryndoril said, knowing this was going to make him sound crazy, “he actually suggested I seek out an Elder Scroll.”

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar frowned, feeling frustrated, “you’re having me on. You can’t _find_ an Elder Scroll.”

“I am not,” Ryndoril replied indignantly. “I’m telling you what he told me. It’s an Elder Scroll that they used to defeat Alduin in the first place, and it’s an Elder Scroll he says I need to find.”

Ondolemar stared at him for a few moments, still unsure if he was being truthful, but then seemed to decide Ryndoril was, in fact, being honest with him.

“But how are you going to find that Scroll?” Ondolemar asked, baffled. “And even if you do, how is it supposed to help anything? Or are you telling me the Shout is written inside it?”

“Not exactly,” Ryndoril said. “I don’t think so, anyway. The Tongues – the ones who destroyed Alduin – used an Elder Scroll to send him forward in time, apparently. Which is why he reappeared now, even though they were supposed to have defeated him,” he explained. “Paarthurnax says it created a ‘time-wound’ and if I get the Scroll and read it there at the time-wound, I might be able to go back in time and learn the Shout from when it was first used.”

“This is insanity,” Ondolemar muttered, shaking his head. “You’re supposed to _read_ it? You know that to read an Elder Scroll is to condemn oneself to blindness, or even madness, don’t you?”

“I didn’t,” Ryndoril admitted, frowning. “But…what choice do I have?”

Ondolemar tried to think of one, but his face fell after a few minutes of considering.

“None, I suppose,” Ondolemar sighed. He reached over and pulled Ryndoril into a hug. “I wish this was not up to you.”

“I kind of do, too,” Ryndoril confessed quietly, setting down his empty bowl and hugging Ondolemar back.

During his conversation with Paarthurnax, Ryndoril had been too awed by the experience to really consider the repercussions of the idea, or what the future could hold. Upon explaining it all to Ondolemar, though, it started to seem real – and as the Altmer had said, completely insane.

“Hey, at least I won’t be alone,” Ryndoril said into Ondolemar’s shoulder, trying to stay optimistic.

“You certainly won’t,” Ondolemar confirmed, kissing Ryndoril’s head. “I shall help you in any way I can, you know that. I just…don’t care for the idea of losing you to madness. Or possible death.”

“I’ll be okay,” Ryndoril said, trying to sound more confident than he really felt. “You’ll see.”

“I suppose,” Ondolemar sighed. “So. How are we ever supposed to find this Elder Scroll, then?”

“I thought of the College in Winterhold,” Ryndoril replied. “I don’t really know who else might know. I know they have a lot of information and books and stuff.”

“How do you know?” Ondolemar asked curiously. “You’ve never been in there.”

“No, but I met with someone who’s part of the College,” Ryndoril informed him. “It was back when all that stuff was happening with the Thieves Guild. He helped me translate something in the old Falmer language.”

“Oh,” Ondolemar said, surprised. “Well, I suppose if they can do that, there’s a chance they could help with this Scroll. Are you sure it’s wise, however?” he asked. “After what happened with Ancano…Auri-El only knows if they still have that mad Eye thing, and surely if they help you find an Elder Scroll, they’ll want to keep that too.”

“Maybe,” Ryndoril said, realizing he was probably right. “But maybe I don’t have to tell them what I’m looking for. Maybe I can just ask to see their books.”

“If that idiotic Mirabelle is still there, she’s going to be far too nosy to allow that, I’m sure,” Ondolemar snorted. “But once again I see no alternative option. We shall go to the College, then.”

“Are you sure it’ll be okay for _you_ to go?” Ryndoril asked, pulling back to look up into Ondolemar’s face. “I mean, after what that Eye thing did to Ancano…I don’t want it to happen to you.”

“I am not as foolishly curious as Ancano,” Ondolemar smirked, making Ryndoril chuckle. “I will not get close to it, if it remains there.”

“Alright,” Ryndoril nodded; he knew Ondolemar wasn’t stupid, after all. He then let out a huge yawn. “I’m beat,” he confessed.

“You were gone nearly all day,” Ondolemar reminded him. “I can hardly blame you. Let’s get some rest; we’ll go down the mountain tomorrow and begin making our way toward Winterhold.”

*****

Ryndoril decided it would be quickest to simply go north through Eastmarch to reach Winterhold. Ondolemar was less than pleased with the proposed route, especially as they would pass right beside Windhelm, but he knew it was the only way that made sense, so he agreed with minimal grumbling.

The journey through the hold was not as easy as they’d hoped, though; more than once they were attacked by wild animals, culminating in a pack of wolves shortly before reaching the city of Windhelm. Nonetheless they pressed on, wanting to get through Eastmarch as quickly as possible.

“Ryn?” Ondolemar spoke up a little farther along the road.

Ryndoril turned around, realizing Ondolemar had fallen several steps behind him. He frowned, stopping, and noticed the elf was exhausted.

“You okay?” Ryndoril asked in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“One of those wolves we fought bit me,” Ondolemar muttered, his voice weak. “I healed it, but I think the beast may have been diseased.”

“Damn,” Ryndoril cursed. “Here, come sit down.” He led the Altmer over to a rock by the side of the road and hurriedly went through his pack of potions. “Of course. I don’t have any potions for diseases,” he sighed. “I’m all out. What’s the matter? Do you know what it is?”

“I…feel quite weak,” Ondolemar admitted, his voice low; Ryndoril knew he didn’t like having to say that. “I cannot summon my magic. I’m really not sure what would cause this.”

“Witbane,” Ryndoril grimaced, shaking his head. He’d heard of it while studying some of the books in alchemist’s shops. “Well, love, there’s no cure but a potion. Windhelm’s not that much farther; I’m sure we can make it.”

“Windhelm?” Ondolemar wrinkled his nose. “I think I’d rather stay like this, thanks.”

“I know,” Ryndoril chuckled. “It’s not the best option, but we don’t have much of a choice. The inn’s right inside the front gate, so you shouldn’t have to deal with many people. Promise.”

“I suppose there’s no other option,” Ondolemar sighed. “Though being in that city and doing nothing about the Talos worship will be incredibly frustrating.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril sympathized. “But I don’t think you’re much up to taking on an entire city of Nords at the moment.”

“Do you doubt my abilities?” Ondolemar asked, puffing up in indignation despite his weakness.

“Never, love,” Ryndoril assured the Altmer with a grin, kissing him on the head. “But for now, how about we just go, get you a potion, rest, and leave?”

“If you insist,” Ondolemar sighed, shaking his head. It may be a necessity, but he damn well didn’t like it. He got unsteadily back on his feet with Ryndoril’s help, and they made for Windhelm.

*****

“Not a chance.”

Ryndoril glared at the alchemist at The White Phial. He had arrived in Windhelm with Ondolemar only moments before, making straight for the potion shop. Ondolemar was weak enough to need Ryndoril’s support at this point, and the Bosmer knew the quicker they could heal him and get out of there, the better they’d both feel.

Upon asking for a potion from the shop, however, the man refused, saying he’d never sell to a “dirty Thalmor”. They’d hoped to avoid this with Ondolemar not wearing his Thalmor robes, but apparently he was well-known enough in Windhelm that the robes didn’t matter.

“After everything I did for you and Nurelion, you’re seriously going to refuse my coin now?” Ryndoril fumed. “Fine. Give me the ingredients, then, and I’ll make it myself.”

“No deal,” Quintus said, crossing his arms. “I’m not selling you anything. I can’t believe you’d work for the Thalmor.”

“Fine!” Ryndoril growled. “You pile of dragon dung.” With that, he turned and led Ondolemar out of the shop. “Sorry,” he murmured quietly, readjusting his grip on the taller elf. “Let’s get back to the inn. He’ll close up shop in a couple of hours; I’ll just come back and steal it.”

“You shouldn’t do that,” Ondolemar said reprovingly, making Ryndoril roll his eyes.

“After that, you’d defend them?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head. “I don’t care if I should or not, I’m getting you a cure. If the ingredients weren’t so damn rare…” He trailed off, thoroughly annoyed at the situation.

They’d gotten nothing but dirty looks since stepping into the city. He supposed the lack of Thalmor robes didn’t matter very much to most of the citizens; they were mostly convinced any Altmer was a Thalmor anyway. He knew they were convinced the Dunmer were Thalmor spies, so an Altmer had to be worse.

The innkeeper was hesitant to rent them a room as well, though Ryndoril was hardly surprised at this point. He finally managed to talk her into it with a little extra gold; he’d stolen from the inn often enough in the past that the extra septims didn’t bother him much.

He brought Ondolemar to the rented room, settling him onto the bed and making him comfortable.

“Just rest, love,” Ryndoril told him, giving him a short kiss. “I’ll get us something to eat for now.”

“Thank you, Ryn,” Ondolemar said tiredly. “I apologize for making things difficult for you. I hate feeling this way.”

“It’s alright,” Ryndoril assured him with a soft smile. “It happens. It isn’t your fault. And you’re not the one making things difficult,” he added, annoyed. “They’re just going to have to live with having elves in their city for a night.”

*****

Late that night, when Ryndoril was sure everything was closed and most of the city was asleep, he made sure Ondolemar was resting comfortably and headed over to The White Phial. He wasn’t really much of a thief these days; if it was convenient to get things through legitimate means, he generally preferred to do that. Right now, though, he had little choice – Ondolemar was more important than that. In any case, he felt the shop could use a little payback for refusing him so rudely.

It took very little skill for Ryndoril to distract the guards and pick the lock on the shop; he may not practice that much anymore, but he still had his talent, he thought with a smirk. Before anyone could’ve had a chance of noticing him, the Bosmer was halfway back to Candlehearth Hall, the potion for Ondolemar safely in his pack.

He was sure Quintus would know exactly who had stolen from him when he checked the shop in the morning, but he planned to be out of Windhelm by then, so he didn’t much care.

A loud commotion caught Ryndoril’s attention as he opened the door to the inn; he wondered if the Nord who usually stood outside had decided to cause trouble after a few drinks again. To his surprise, however, the commotion was coming from his room.

The door stood open, several Windhelm guards outside it in the hall, shouting coming from inside the room. He was instantly furious – did they really have to _seek out_ elves to cause trouble? Ondolemar had done nothing to them.

“Nice long stay in Ulfric’s dungeon ought to be good for you,” a female guard cackled as Ryndoril stalked closer. “Give you a taste of what he dealt with, he will!”

Ryndoril reached the room then and saw the woman was holding Ondolemar’s left arm, his right held firmly by another guard, the Altmer slouching between them with a bloody nose.

“Get your hands off him!” Ryndoril bellowed, startling everyone in the vicinity; they’d been so intent on Ondolemar that none of them had seen him approach. He was livid. “What in Oblivion is going on here?”

“Just giving a dirty Thalmor what he has coming,” one guard spoke up dismissively.

“Look, this one’s an elf, too,” another guard said, pointing to Ryndoril. “Think we should take him, too?”

“You a Thalmor sympathizer, elf?” the second guard holding onto Ondolemar asked. Ondolemar raised his head to look at Ryndoril miserably; he could see the Altmer was annoyed, but he wasn’t able to fight back at the moment.

“You aren’t taking anyone _anywhere_ ,” Ryndoril snapped angrily. “Let him go, right now!” 

Of course they had to find the elf when he was too weak to fight back. They wouldn’t have dared bother him if he wasn’t incapacitated; Ondolemar would’ve taken them down with barely a thought.

“You think you can take the seven of us?” a guard snorted. 

Ryndoril growled angrily, and before he knew it or could even try to make it happen consciously, he’d Shouted at the group gathered by the door. They all stumbled backward, a few falling over entirely.

“The Dragonborn!” one of the guards holding Ondolemar gasped in shock. As one, she and the other guard dropped Ondolemar, the elf falling to the floor with a thud as he was unable to hold himself up.

“Yes, the Dragonborn,” Ryndoril snarled. “Now get out of here. All of you!”

“But – we’re supposed to take him to the Palace of the Kings,” one of the guards said hesitantly.

“You really want to see what else I can Shout?” Ryndoril challenged him furiously. “Get away from here and leave us alone!”

“Come on,” another guard said, shaking his head as he got back to his feet. “We don’t want to mess with the Dragonborn right now. You better get out of the city fast,” he snapped at Ryndoril. “Next time, we won’t back down so easy.”

Ryndoril glared as they left, slamming the door behind the last one before kneeling beside Ondolemar, still sitting awkwardly on the floor.

“You all right, love?” Ryndoril asked in a worried tone. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m fine,” Ondolemar muttered. “I still have no energy or magic, that’s all. Damn Nords.”

“Well, I’ve got the cure right here,” Ryndoril assured him, patting his pack. “Let’s get you back up on the bed. What happened?” He pulled Ondolemar to his feet, helping him over to the bed so he could get comfortable.

“Burst into the room…going on about taking me to Ulfric’s palace,” Ondolemar huffed angrily. “Tried to fight back, but I couldn’t do much. One of them hit me in the face.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryndoril said sympathetically. He felt terrible; he’d never expected this, but he shouldn’t have left the Altmer alone. He quickly went through his pack and found the potion for curing diseases, along with a healing potion. “Here.” He helped the elf drink them, pleased when Ondolemar seemed to regain some of his energy almost at once.

“Thank you,” Ondolemar said, wiping at the blood around his nose. “Ugh.”

“Yeah, you’re a bit of a mess,” Ryndoril agreed, kissing his forehead. “I’ll take care of it. We need to get out of here, if you think you can. I don’t want them coming back with reinforcements.”

“I’m sure I can get _somewhere_ else, at least,” Ondolemar replied, sounding stronger. “I feel much better already.”

“Good,” Ryndoril smiled, relieved. He was furious at the idea of the Stormcloaks having Ondolemar at their mercy, but he would make damn sure it never happened. 

“Are we going to be stuck camping in the snow?” Ondolemar asked, sounding wary as Ryndoril packed up their things.

“Depends on how far you can get,” Ryndoril said. “There’s a town not too far from here with an inn.”

“We should’ve gone there instead of Windhelm,” Ondolemar snorted.

“I thought about it,” Ryndoril nodded. “But Windhelm was closer, and I didn’t think that little town would have an apothecary or any of the ingredients I’d need for this potion. Anyway, I killed the dragon that was buried near the town, so I don’t think they’ll give me any trouble there.”

“You know,” Ondolemar remarked, getting unsteadily to his feet, “it still astonishes me that you’ve killed dragons.”

Ryndoril laughed, putting his arm around the taller mer for support while the potion took effect.

“Me, too,” Ryndoril admitted. “This was actually the dragon I brought you that scale from,” he added.

“Ah,” Ondolemar said with a small smile, reaching instinctively into his robes to touch the scale. He’d kept it close ever since the Bosmer had given it to him. “Well, lead on, fearless dragonslayer.”

Ryndoril snorted out a laugh, leading Ondolemar out of the inn.

****

They were both chilled through by the time they made it to Kynesgrove, though the journey at least proved manageable for Ondolemar. The innkeeper was kind enough to give them a room with a warm fire inside it. She recognized Ryndoril at once, thanking him profusely for making sure the dragon hadn’t burned down the town, and even let them stay there for free. (“Just the one night, mind,” she’d added.)

“Auri-El, they did a number on you,” Ryndoril murmured, gently cleaning the blood off Ondolemar’s face and discovering light bruising beneath it, despite the healing potion.

“Well, those gauntlets are strong,” Ondolemar muttered. A moment later, he smiled, staring at Ryndoril.

“What?” Ryndoril asked, self-conscious.

“I believe I’ve rubbed off on you,” Ondolemar said, amused. “I’ve never heard you say ‘Auri-El’ like that before.” 

Ryndoril thought for a moment, realized what he’d said, and then laughed.

“Yeah, maybe you have,” he teased, finishing up with the rag. “I can live with that.”

Safe enough now to be able to get some sleep, Ryndoril and Ondolemar got ready for bed and settled down, the Altmer wrapped in the Bosmer’s arms.

“I’m glad you returned when you did,” Ondolemar murmured, so softly it was hard for Ryndoril to hear. “I wasn’t in any shape to fight them off. I…admit I was a bit frightened.” 

Ryndoril squeezed him tightly. He knew it cost the Altmer something to admit to such a weakness.

“Don’t worry, love,” he whispered. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Even if I hadn’t gotten back when I did, I would’ve still found you. I promise.”

“I know,” Ondolemar said trustingly. He hated that he’d felt so frightened, but there had been so many of the Nord guards, and he’d been alone. With so little energy and no magic at all, he couldn’t have hoped to take them on. He was grateful to have Ryndoril looking out for him.


	4. Chapter 4

A sudden sound caught Ryndoril’s attention as they traveled along the road the next day.

“Oh, no,” Ryndoril muttered, tensing as he looked around.

Ondolemar readied himself for a fight, looking around to find the threat Ryndoril seemed to have noticed, but he couldn’t see anything.

“Dragon,” Ryndoril informed him, pointing, and Ondolemar spotted the beast.

It was flying fast toward them. Ryndoril fired off a shot from his bow, immediately on top of things, but Ondolemar stood, frozen in surprise for a moment.

It was large – much larger than he expected. The only other time he’d seen a dragon was at Helgen. Perhaps time had dulled the memory, or perhaps this one was actually larger than that one had been. He’d never frozen in battle before, but he couldn’t think what to do – it was as though he’d forgotten how to move upon catching sight of the dragon. He stood, watching the dragon come closer, mouth hanging open.

Only when a jet of fire erupted from Ryndoril’s mouth was he startled into action.

Adrenaline fueling him now, he began to fling ice spikes at the dragon as it closed in on them. He lost sight of Ryndoril in the fireball the elf had breathed, but he couldn’t go looking for him now. 

_Focus on the enemy._

He realized with the dragon’s next pass that it was breathing ice crystals at them, not the fire he’d expected.

“Use fire!” Ryndoril shouted from somewhere to Ondolemar’s left. “Ice won’t do anything!”

 _Who ever heard of a dragon that breathes ice?_ Ondolemar thought with annoyance. No wonder his ice spikes didn’t seem to faze the creature. He switched to a mixture of lightning and fire magic, continuing to hurl his most powerful spells at the beast. He seemed to be weakening much faster than the dragon was, however, and didn’t quite manage to dodge the dragon’s spiky tail as it swung toward him on the next pass.

Ondolemar cried out as the spikes hit his armor. Only one spike actually pierced it and the wound was fairly shallow, but it seemed to weaken him far more than a wound like that should have. _Perhaps dragons are enchanted,_ he thought hazily, trying to regain his focus. 

_Focus on the enemy._

The trouble was, he didn’t seem to be able to focus on _anything_ anymore; his vision was hazy and the world seemed to be spinning beneath his feet. Mustering up every bit of magic he could, he shot a large shard of ice in the direction of the dragon – he’d forgotten that it wouldn’t do anything. He fell to the ground, the spinning world finally catching up to him.

The next thing he knew, Ryndoril was shaking him awake, the Bosmer’s teeth chattering as he shivered.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril was saying worriedly as Ondolemar blinked into awareness again. “Wake up. Oh, thank the gods. Are you alright?”

“Ryn?” Ondolemar muttered, looking around in confusion. The dragon appeared to be dead – nothing but a pile of bones. “Dammit! I apologize,” he said, shaking his head to try and clear it. “Its tail caught me, and…” He stopped, frowning. “Did – did I pass out?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, sounding relieved as his shaking hand rested on the Altmer’s cheek. “I gave you a potion. How are you feeling?” He said all this very shakily, and couldn’t stop trembling.

“I feel…fine,” Ondolemar frowned, bemused. He was low on magic, but he didn’t seem to be hurt anymore, and the world had stopped its spinning. “What about you? What’s the matter?” he asked urgently.

“Your last frost spell missed the dragon,” Ryndoril replied with a wry smile. “Or, well, it missed the dragon you meant for it to hit, anyway.”

“What?” Ondolemar exclaimed, sitting up and staring at Ryndoril in horror. “I hit _you_?”

“Don’t worry,” Ryndoril assured him quickly, patting his arm. “You couldn’t help it. I’ll be fine – I really wasn’t hurt.”

“How could you not be hurt?” Ondolemar demanded, his eyes searching Ryndoril frantically for any sign of injury. “That was an ice spike I threw at you!”

Ryndoril gave a short laugh, his eyes crinkling slightly.

“Sorry, love, but it was barely more than a snowball,” he teased. “I think the dragon’s tail spikes took away your magic.”

“Damn it all!” Ondolemar muttered, disgruntled and embarrassed. He’d passed out while trying to fight a dragon, he’d not even used the spell he intended to use, and on top of it all, he’d hit Ryndoril instead of the dragon! “I – I’m sorry. Auri-El.”

“Hey,” Ryndoril said softly, brushing Ondolemar’s cheek with frozen fingers. “You put up a good fight, love. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

“Perhaps,” Ondolemar said, not agreeing with him at all but knowing it wasn’t exactly a good time to argue the point. He took Ryndoril’s cold hand in both of his, trying to warm it and realizing just how cold the rest of him was. He tried to rub some warmth into Ryndoril’s arms, doing what he could without a fire to warm him by.

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said in relief, snuggling into the warmth Ondolemar’s body and robes together provided.

“So you killed it, then?” Ondolemar asked, eyeing the skeleton warily. “You killed it on your own?”

“I did,” Ryndoril confirmed. “Though your spells helped a lot before you passed out.”

“Well done,” Ondolemar said, choosing to ignore the second part. He didn’t feel as though he’d helped at all. “That was…far more terrifying than I imagined it would be.”

“No kidding,” Ryndoril laughed. “But now you can say you fought a dragon!”

“Hmph,” Ondolemar grunted. “Barely.”

“Well enough. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Ryndoril smirked.

“I suppose so,” Ondolemar sighed, not wanting to push it right then and just focusing on trying to warm up the chilly elf. “Do you think you can make it to Winterhold? The inn’s fire will warm you much better than this.”

“Yeah, I can,” Ryndoril nodded. “You’re sure you’re okay? I don’t know how well my potions do against dragon spikes…”

“I assure you, I’m fine,” Ondolemar promised. Still feeling angry with himself, he got to his feet, ready to finish their journey to Winterhold.

“Hang on,” Ryndoril called, heading over to the skeletal dragon. “You should take a scale.”

“I already have a dragon scale,” Ondolemar reminded him, reaching for the gray scale tucked inside his armor.

“Yeah, but this is from the first one you helped kill,” Ryndoril grinned.

Ondolemar sighed, shaking his head.

“I did nothing, Ryndoril,” he said, unable to keep all the bitterness out of his voice. “If you want a scale, take it. I neither need nor deserve one.” He walked away toward Winterhold, leaving Ryndoril frowning after him.

The Bosmer couldn’t understand what Ondolemar was so annoyed about; he was sure he couldn’t have killed the beast on his own, and he was very grateful for the Altmer’s help. He pocketed one of the scales anyway, intending to give it to Ondolemar another time – when he’d convinced the mer he did deserve the thing.

*****

That evening, Ryndoril and Ondolemar were sitting in their room at the inn, neither speaking much. It had been late when they arrived, so they decided against trying to get into the college that night. Instead they retired to their room – though Ryndoril was wondering if he might be better off trying to check out the college alone, with the way Ondolemar was behaving. 

The Altmer had been silent and brooding since their encounter with the dragon, and no matter how Ryndoril tried to keep a light conversation going, he couldn’t get more than “mmhmm” out of the elf. He couldn’t help wondering if perhaps Ondolemar was angry with him – it was Ryndoril’s fault, after all, that they had to fight the dragon to begin with.

Ryndoril finally spoke up, unable to take the tension any longer.

“Ondolemar?” he ventured.

Ondolemar looked over, surprised; the Bosmer hardly ever sounded so anxious.

“Is something wrong?” the Altmer asked, a slight frown creasing his brow.

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Ryndoril said gently, his own brows furrowed. “You’ve barely spoken to me all evening. Is…is everything okay?”

“Of course it is,” Ondolemar said at once, turning away again. He didn’t want to discuss his failures and worsen the anxiety on Ryndoril’s face. “I’m simply tired.”

Ryndoril sighed softly, getting off the bed and moving to stand behind the Altmer.

“Love,” Ryndoril murmured, putting a tentative hand on Ondolemar's shoulder. “Are you…angry at me?”

Ondolemar whipped his head back around to look at the smaller elf in astonishment. Ryndoril’s eyes were wide with worry, and he looked to be on the verge of tears.

“Angry at you?” Ondolemar asked incredulously. “Are you mad? What in Auri-El’s name could I be angry at you for?”

“Just…the dragon,” Ryndoril mumbled. “I mean…I know it’s my fault we had to fight it, instead of running away or trying to hide from it.”

“No, it is not your fault,” Ondolemar said firmly, taking hold of Ryndoril’s hand. “And I certainly am not upset with you.”

Ryndoril relaxed slightly with relief at this, but still felt unsure about what was going on.

“Will you tell me what’s bothering you, then?” he asked hopefully. “I mean…you don’t have to. I just…I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

Ondolemar let out a quiet sigh, getting to his feet and enveloping the Bosmer in his arms.

“I’m not,” he promised. “I swear to you, Ryn.” He held the Bosmer in silence for a moment, contemplating. He realized he might as well put it out there, especially if Ryndoril was going to be worried otherwise. “I’m angry at myself,” he muttered, squeezing Ryndoril tighter. “More than I can say.”

“But…why?” Ryndoril asked, surprised. That was the last of what he had expected.

“I could’ve killed you,” Ondolemar responded bitterly. “I could’ve gotten both of us killed, and I could’ve actually _killed you_ on top of it, because I am apparently far more inept in battle than I used to be.”

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said, utterly shocked as he pulled back from the taller elf to look up into his face. “How could you think that? You – inept in battle? I don’t even – “

“It’s true!” Ondolemar burst out, finally letting his rage at himself erupt. “I couldn’t focus, I got myself hurt, and in doing so, lost my concentration enough that I could have killed you!” He pulled away from Ryndoril, moving to pace the floor angrily. “What if that spell had been more powerful, and it hit you? Even without that, I was useless!” he raged. “One little hit and I was down. I fought in _wars_! I was a Justiciar patroller for years; I was highly trained! Now look at me!”

Ryndoril stared at him, mouth agape. He’d never heard Ondolemar talk about himself this way before – he was always so self-assured. And it wasn’t even warranted! He couldn’t come up with anything to say in his surprise.

“You’d be better off without me traveling with you,” Ondolemar went on, throwing his arms up in the air. “You’d be better off alone than with a companion who can’t even fight, or one who tries to kill you.”

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril croaked, managing to find his voice. He couldn’t believe he was hearing this. “Love, please. That – that isn’t true. None of that is true.”

“Isn’t it?” Ondolemar cried desperately, stopping and turning to Ryndoril with a tortured face. “Look what nearly happened. I am obviously not fit for – “

“Ondolemar!” Ryndoril interrupted, walking over to the elf. “Stop that,” he said firmly. “You were fighting a dragon, love. This wasn’t some Talos-worshipping villager you were trying to take down! It was a dragon. And you handled it…amazingly, love,” he went on desperately, laying a hand on Ondolemar’s arm. “You…there is no one I want beside me more than you. I love you.”

They stared at one another for a long moment; Ondolemar was the one who couldn’t come up with anything to say this time.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk badly about yourself,” Ryndoril went on quietly. “Especially your abilities.”

“This was different,” Ondolemar argued, his shoulders sagging as his eyes fell to the floor. “I could have lost you, Ryn. By my own hand. Because I wasn’t good enough.”

“Oh, love,” Ryndoril whispered, wrapping his arms around the Altmer. So that was what was bothering him so much. “You know it had nothing to do with you being good enough. Of course you’re good enough. You’re _better_ than good enough. Tell me, could anyone else have taken down two high-ranking Thalmor agents, practically single-handedly, to save my life?”

“That’s not – it isn’t the same thing,” Ondolemar protested, though he did hug Ryndoril back. “It wasn’t exactly easy, but I went through the same training they did. I knew how they fought. I knew… _how_ to fight them.”

“That doesn’t make it any less impressive,” Ryndoril pointed out. “You still took them out almost by yourself. And the guard, too.” He sighed, wishing he knew how to convince his lover that he meant it. “In any case, you were plenty of help with the dragon. And don’t forget, this is the first time you’ve ever fought one. It’s not like you’ve had an opportunity before. You say you knew how to fight Thalmor…how could you expect to know how to fight a dragon?”

Ondolemar considered this; he had to admit, Ryndoril was correct. It didn’t really make him feel much better.

“I’m supposed to keep you safe,” Ondolemar insisted. “Not nearly kill you.”

“But I’m fine, love,” Ryndoril shushed him. “I’m fine, and you did the best you could. You got unlucky with that tail hit; there’s nothing you could’ve done about it. Please, don’t beat yourself up over this.”

“I suppose,” Ondolemar conceded. He was still going to have a hard time forgiving himself, but he knew Ryndoril was right. It wasn’t like he hadn’t tried. And Ryndoril _was_ alright; he just needed to use the experience to learn for the next time. Next time. “I’m still not sure I’m well-suited to being your traveling companion,” he added dryly. “Some lookout it would be if the Dragonborn was killed by a mage before he could save the world.”

Ryndoril laughed, hugging Ondolemar tightly.

“You’re the best traveling companion I could have,” Ryndoril argued playfully. “And I don’t want any other one.” He pulled back, looking up into Ondolemar’s eyes – still troubled, but less than they had been before. “Besides,” he noted in a more serious tone, “I know you’d give up your very life for me. What more could anyone ask for?”

Ondolemar’s lips were on Ryndoril’s before the Bosmer could take another breath, pulling him into a harsh, possessive kiss.

“I would in a second,” he agreed fiercely, his fingers tangling in Ryndoril’s red hair. “Don’t ever doubt it.”

“I never would,” Ryndoril smiled, pulling the Altmer down to him for a much longer kiss.

*****

Ryndoril headed up to the college alone the next morning, not wanting Ondolemar anywhere near the place in case that Eye artifact was still around. Unfortunately, he never made it past the beginning of the bridge.

A female elf named Faralda was guarding the bridge, and she wouldn’t agree to let Ryndoril through unless he could perform magic to her satisfaction. He was still feeling sensitive about his complete lack of magical ability, and her mocking managed to upset him. He was tempted to ask her if Shouting her off the bridge would be good enough for her, but he didn’t need the trouble that would cause.

Ryndoril went back to the inn, defeated. He wondered if Ondolemar might be able to help him; after all, the Altmer did know better than to get involved with the Eye, if it was still around. He’d probably be safe enough.

Ondolemar could tell that things hadn’t gone to plan the moment Ryndoril walked back into their room.

“What happened, Ryn?” Ondolemar demanded, not happy that something had gone wrong for him.

“The elf guarding the bridge won’t let me past,” Ryndoril sighed, sinking down onto the bed. “I can’t get in.”

“Then I shall have a word with her,” Ondolemar said at once, getting to his feet. “Come on.”

“Love,” Ryndoril said with a small laugh, “you blasting her off the bridge isn’t going to help anything. It’s fine. I’ll…figure something out.”

“Why wouldn’t she let you in?” Ondolemar asked, grudgingly sitting back on the bed beside the Bosmer.

“Because I can’t do any magic,” Ryndoril confessed quietly, not able to look at Ondolemar.

The topic hadn’t been brought up since that morning in Whiterun. Though Ondolemar had been kind and reassuring at the time, Ryndoril was a little afraid to give him the chance to change his mind.

“Well, that’s ridiculous,” Ondolemar scoffed. “Perhaps not, but you’re the Dragonborn! You can _breathe_ fire, for Auri-El’s sake. What should it matter if you can’t conjure it?”

Ryndoril gave the Altmer a grateful smile; it seemed his worries were entirely unfounded.

“Thanks, love. It _was_ tempting to set her on fire, but I figured I’d better keep myself out of trouble,” he shrugged.

Ondolemar sighed, shaking his head.

“I’m sorry, Ryn,” he offered, putting his arm around the Bosmer’s shoulders. “I told you last time we were here, they’re an elitist bunch. Ancano told me they hardly ever even accepted new students while he was there.”

“I’ll just have to think of something else,” Ryndoril said. “You think your friend Nelacar is still here? Maybe he’d know something, or be able to help me.”

“Unlikely,” Ondolemar replied, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure he’s still around, but there’s no chance he’d know anything about an Elder Scroll.”

“Well, he might be able to help me get into the college, anyway,” Ryndoril mused. “I don’t know. I know there’s not much point leaving, though…I don’t have anything else to go on right now. Maybe I’ll get lucky.”

****

Luck did turn out to be on Ryndoril’s side that evening. He was sitting in the main room eating dinner with Ondolemar when the door opened and two people came walking in, laughing. The Bosmer immediately recognized them both – Nelacar and Enthir.

“Enthir!” he exclaimed, waving at the other wood elf in excitement. He was sure Enthir would be able to help.

Enthir glanced over to see who’d called his name, grinning when his eyes landed on Ryndoril.

“Hello, Ryndoril!” Enthir greeted him, coming over to the table. “Been a long time since I saw you.”

Nelacar followed him somewhat apprehensively, the Altmer’s eyes warily on Ondolemar. Ondolemar was studiously not looking at his fellow high elf, however.

“Been busy,” Ryndoril informed him. “Have a seat.”

Enthir happily obliged, but Nelacar remained standing, looking uncomfortable.

“I’ll – ah – be in my room,” Nelacar said quickly before departing, shooting one last anxious glance at Ondolemar.

Enthir gave him a confused look, then shrugged as Nelacar disappeared into his room, deciding it wasn’t worth asking about.

“What brings you to Winterhold this time?” Enthir asked, motioning to the bartender for a drink. “And who’s your friend?”

“This is Ondolemar, Commander of the Thalmor,” Ryndoril said. He realized there was a bit of pride in his voice when he said it that he hadn’t noticed before, and felt his ears burn a little. “We’re traveling together for the time being,” he went in hurriedly. “Ondolemar, this is Enthir – “

“Member of the Mage’s College and purveyor of goods, legal and otherwise,” Enthir smirked.

Ondolemar nodded at him in greeting, but didn’t say anything. Enthir turned his attention back to Ryndoril.

“Got anything good for me?” he asked. “Or are you wanting to buy?”

“Neither, actually,” Ryndoril shook his head. “Sorry. I actually came to Winterhold because I need to get into the college,” he explained. “It just…didn’t work.”

“Let me guess,” Enthir said with a frown. “Faralda didn’t want to let you up there?”

“Right in one,” Ryndoril nodded. “I can’t exactly do any magic, you see.”

“If you can’t do any magic, what could you possibly want with that drafty old place?” Enthir asked with a laugh.

“Well, I need to see if there’s any information there…about the Elder Scrolls.” 

Ryndoril went on to tell Enthir all about being Dragonborn, explaining how his quest involved learning about an Elder Scroll so he could have a chance at defeating Alduin.

Enthir’s eyes got rounder the more Ryndoril talked, and his mouth was hanging open by the time the Bosmer finished.

“Wow,” Enthir marveled when Ryndoril was done. “I thought you’d hit the limit of surprises when you got me to translate a journal written in Falmer, but this…”

“I know,” Ryndoril agreed, chuckling. “It sounds crazy. But it’s all true. I just really need more information. You don’t know if the College has anything that would help me, do you?”

“Hmm,” Enthir hummed, frowning thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard of anything. But we do have a large library, so there’s a chance something could be in there. Our orc librarian would probably know.”

“Do you think you could bring me some books or something?” Ryndoril requested eagerly.

“I’ll do you one better,” Enthir offered. “I’ll get you in there yourself.”

“Really?” Ryndoril said. “Thanks so much, Enthir.”

“Sure, sure,” Enthir said, waving off the thanks. “Can you do me a little favor in return?”

“Of course!” Ryndoril exclaimed, eager to help in his gratitude. “What do you need?”

“I’ve managed to procure some, ah…items of a sensitive nature for someone in Whiterun,” Enthir informed him. “I’m sure you know Mallus Maccius?”

“Know him? Yes,” Ryndoril rolled his eyes. “Like him? Barely.”

“You’re not alone,” Enthir assured him with a grin. “But to save me going all the way down there, you think you could take my delivery to him? He’ll pay you what he would’ve owed me for the delivery.”

“Definitely,” Ryndoril agreed easily. “No problem.”’

“Then we have a deal,” Enthir affirmed. “Do you want to get in there tonight, or wait until morning?”

“I might as well see if I can find anything tonight,” Ryndoril said, looking to Ondolemar for his opinion. The Altmer nodded his agreement.

“Your friend want to come, too?” Enthir asked, nodding toward Ondolemar.

“Yes, I will be accompanying him,” Ondolemar replied shortly. “Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” Enthir shrugged. “You’re that Thalmor that took the other one away, aren’t you? Ancano.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar answered stiffly.

“They won’t be any happier to see you than Faralda was to let Ryndoril here in,” Enthir said with a chuckle. “But they’ll live. Come on, then.”

“Hang on,” Ryndoril interjected. “Uh…when we were here before….when Ondolemar and Ancano left. There was a…an object of some kind, up at the college?”

“The Eye of Magnus,” Ondolemar put in, frowning.

“Yes,” Ryndoril nodded. “It…seemed like it did funny things to him. Is it still there?”

“The Eye? Oh, no,” Enthir said, waving off Ryndoril’s concern. “It’s been gone for ages. There was a commotion over the whole thing, but it’s been removed.”

“Good,” Ryndoril breathed, relaxing. “Then let’s go.”

*****

Enthir had an easy enough time convincing the Altmer at the entrance to let them pass, much to Ryndoril’s relief. Harder to convince had been the orc who was in charge of the library. He was irritable and overly protective of his books, but once Ryndoril managed to convince him that he wasn’t going to harm anything, he’d been more cooperative.

The orc gave Ryndoril what he had on the subject of the Elder Scrolls, but there wasn’t much information to be had. Ryndoril read through the couple of books he was given while Ondolemar slowly walked around the rest of the library, utterly fascinated and almost reverent.

One of the books seemed to be written in nonsense; Ryndoril couldn’t decipher anything in it. When he asked the orc librarian about it, he informed Ryndoril that the book was written by a madman who was rumored to have headed off up north, living in a cave in the middle of the sea.

Ryndoril sighed when he realized that meant he’d have to go seek out this madman; it didn’t sound like a pleasant journey. At this point, however, he didn’t have much choice. It didn’t seem like anything else could help him find out what was next.

Ondolemar was deeply absorbed in a book when Ryndoril managed to find him, which didn’t surprise the Bosmer at all. He walked over to the Altmer with a fond smile on his face.

“Ready to go?” Ryndoril asked with a yawn.

“Mmm,” Ondolemar hummed absently, obviously not paying a bit of attention to what Ryndoril had said.

Ryndoril let out a tired chuckle.

“Okay. You stay here and look at books all night, if you want,” Ryndoril offered, squeezing the Altmer’s arm gently. “I’m heading back to the inn. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t get more than two steps away before Ondolemar caught back up with him, putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

“Ryn?” Ondolemar asked anxiously. “Are you alright?”

Ryndoril grinned at him in amusement.

“I’m fine,” he assured the other mer. “But I’m done with my research, and I’m exhausted. You can stay here if you want to; I really don’t mind.”

“No, of course not,” Ondolemar replied at once, walking off with the Bosmer. “I want to know what’s going on. I’m sorry,” he added, ears reddening a little. “I didn’t mean to become so…”

“It’s fine, really,” Ryndoril promised. “You were enjoying yourself. You’re allowed to.”

Ondolemar blushed, but looked pleased. On the way out, Ryndoril caught Enthir and thanked him for the help once more; Enthir wished him luck.

It was windy and snowing when they left the college, heading back to the inn; they didn’t speak as they hurried through the storm, instead trying to cover themselves against the chill. They let out twin sighs of relief upon reaching the fire-warmed inn with their room.

“So what have you found out?” Ondolemar asked as they removed their wet clothing to let it dry by the fire. “Did you find its location?”

“No,” Ryndoril said with a tired sigh. “All I found out was that I need to go talk to this man named Septimus Signus…somewhere in a cave north of here.”

“North of here?” Ondolemar asked, eyes widening in surprise. “There is no ‘north of here’, Ryn. It’s all water and ice.”

“I know,” Ryndoril said heavily. “I’m not exactly looking forward to it. You can wait on me here, if you want,” he added, not wanting to be pushy. Gods knew Ondolemar had already done plenty for him.

“No, of course not,” Ondolemar replied immediately. “I’m coming with you.”

Ryndoril couldn’t help smiling a little at that; it made him feel better about the trip, in any case. They got into bed, the Altmer pulling the Bosmer into his arms.

“Are you alright, Ryn?” Ondolemar asked softly, concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay,” Ryndoril assured him, snuggling into the Altmer’s warm chest. It was funny, he thought, how much tension the Altmer’s touch could release from him. “It’s just starting to feel hopeless, you know? I appreciated Paarthurnax’s help, but it feels like I keep having to chase down new information again and again…it’s starting to feel like it doesn’t exist.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar agreed with a frown. He’d been having the same feeling. “It seemed far-fetched to begin with, but now….” He sighed, pressing a kiss to Ryndoril’s temple. “We’ll figure it out, Ryn. I promise,” he assured the smaller elf. “You don’t have to do it alone. I am here.”

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril murmured, kissing Ondolemar’s chest in reply. The words meant more to Ryndoril than he could properly express.

*****

The trip the next day did little to ease their minds of the thoughts of hopelessness. They spent hours struggling through the cold, icy sea in search of the cave that was supposed to be around somewhere. Both were too cold, soaked and worn out to complain out loud very much, but they were quite miserable all the same.

By mid-afternoon, Ondolemar was about ready to give up and go back to Winterhold. It may be a freezing town, but at least the inn had fires! His armor helped, but when he was soaked to the bone, there was only so much enchantments could do. 

“Ryn?” he finally called, seeing Ryndoril pulling himself up onto a solid chunk of ice some yards ahead of him. “I think we ought to turn around.”

“I know,” Ryndoril muttered, teeth chattering as he turned to help Ondolemar up onto the ice block with him. “I’m sorry. This is so pointless.”

The Bosmer sounded so disheartened that Ondolemar put an arm around his shoulders and squeezed.

“Don’t be sorry,” Ondolemar reassured him. “We’ll figure something – wait. Look!” Ondolemar pointed excitedly to their left. “Ryn, that’s a cave!”

Ryndoril looked around hopefully, spotting what Ondolemar was pointing at – it certainly looked like a cave.

“You think?” he asked, feeling a little more optimistic. “You think that’s what we need?”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t,” Ondolemar said, trying to sound more confident than he actually felt. “How many caves could there be up here?”

“I guess if it’s out of the water, it’s an improvement from what we’re doing now, even if it’s not the right one,” Ryndoril laughed wearily. “Come on.”

Relief took hold of them both as they realized it was indeed a cave, and the cave was indeed out of the water. That relief was short-lived, however, as they came to understand that the man who inhabited the cave was quite as mad as they’d feared.

It was the right person; there was no doubt about that, given the book and the description Ryndoril had from the orc. It was nearly impossible to follow his thoughts, as he spoke only in riddles; the ridiculous book started to make a little sense. 

Ondolemar gave up almost at once, too impatient to try to deal with this man or his riddles, but Ryndoril finally managed to work out what he was talking about – at least partly.

Septimus Signus finally managed to reveal what Ryndoril was looking for, and told him how to get it – though in a thoroughly roundabout way, of course. He also insisted that Ryndoril help him in return; he wanted the knowledge of the Elder Scroll, it seemed, but the Bosmer couldn’t understand exactly what he was talking about or how it was going to help him. Ryndoril agreed anyway; it seemed a small price to pay, and of course, the man had helped him. Somewhat.

Ondolemar and Ryndoril found their way back to Winterhold after that. The return journey was a little easier, considering they knew where they were going and had the sight of the college to guide them.

Ondolemar didn’t like the idea of helping the old man. He didn’t want to struggle back through the sea to find him again, for one, but he was also sure that sharing the knowledge with anyone was unwise. It was bad enough, he thought, that Ryndoril was supposed to not only find the thing, but to carry it around and read it – no sense making it more dangerous.

The Altmer also brought up the rather valid point that whatever Septimus’ research had told him, it had clearly not done anything good for the man’s state of mind; he wasn’t sure he wanted Ryndoril to even find the thing at this point, let alone share the knowledge.

“I know, but what other plan do you have?” Ryndoril asked tiredly as they got into bed that evening, both ready to sleep after such a tiring day. “I have to defeat Alduin. I’m the only one who can – you know that. He’ll destroy everything if I don’t.”

“That does not make me alright with the idea of destroying _you_ , simply to have a glimmer of a chance at it,” Ondolemar snapped. 

He didn’t mean to be angry with Ryndoril, not really, and the Bosmer understood.

“I know,” Ryndoril murmured, kissing Ondolemar’s arm where it wrapped around him. “I’m sorry, love. But I’ll be alright. You’ll see.”

Ondolemar sighed, kissing the top of the Bosmer’s head. He wished he could be as certain as Ryndoril sounded.


	5. Chapter 5

Though they were both still tired the following morning, neither elf wanted to sit around in Winterhold all day. Ondolemar was keen to get moving – anywhere with a little less snow, he said, making Ryndoril chuckle. They headed for Whiterun; Ryndoril had to deliver the goods Enthir had entrusted to him, and at least in the city they could rest in Ryndoril’s own house.

They reached Whiterun before the sun had even set; it was an uneventful trip, which made for a pleasant change. Ryndoril let out a small, pleased sigh when he saw the city looming, knowing there was a comfortable bed waiting for them there.

“You can head up to the house, if you want,” Ryndoril offered as they approached the meadery along the road. He knew Ondolemar was tired, and more importantly wanted nothing to do with Guild business; he wasn’t terribly pleased that Ryndoril was making the delivery to begin with, but to his credit, he hadn’t brought it up.

“Thank you,” Ondolemar said in relief. “I’ll get settled at the house, then.”

Ryndoril gave him a small wave as he walked off before turning to go into Honningbrew Meadery. He was eager to follow Ondolemar; even an easy trip all the way from Winterhold was a long one, and he was ready to rest, so he hoped Mallus Maccius would make it quick.

“Ryndoril,” Mallus said politely when the Bosmer walked in. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Have something to sell?”

“Actually,” Ryndoril said, handing over the sack Enthir had given him, “I brought you this – from Enthir up in Winterhold. He said you’d be expecting it.”

“Ah, good,” Mallus replied, his greedy eyes widening as he took the bag eagerly. “I was starting to think he’d never get this to me.”

“He also said you’d pay for it,” Ryndoril added with a pointed frown. He knew the man was stingy, but he wasn’t going to let him get away with not paying.

“Well, I was going to, if he bothered to get it to me in a timely manner,” Mallus grumbled. “But fine. I suppose I can’t risk offending the _Guild Second_ , after all.” Ryndoril rolled his eyes at the sarcasm, but didn’t bother to comment. “I’m low on gold at the moment; Maven just took her payment. How about this amulet?”

He held out a pretty amulet; it was well-made and in very good shape. Ryndoril sighed; this wasn’t exactly what he’d hoped for, but it would do. He was sure he could get something for it at Belethor’s shop, at least.

“Alright,” he agreed, reaching for the necklace. “I guess that will work.”

Mallus grinned, and Ryndoril knew then that the man was holding out on him, but he didn’t argue the point. It wasn’t as though it had been a difficult chore to make the delivery when he probably would have been passing anyway, and he was too tired to put up a fuss.

“You should wear it,” Mallus smirked. “It has healing powers.”

“Sure it does,” Ryndoril snorted, not believing the man for a second. He slipped it around his neck, humoring him, and rolled his eyes at Mallus. “Yeah, I’m immortal now.”

“Give the Guild my regards, when you see them,” Mallus said, waving Ryndoril off dismissively.

Ryndoril headed out the door; he didn’t care for being dismissed, but he was eager to get away from the man’s presence. He always felt unsettled around Mallus Maccius; he suspected it had something to do with the man being Maven Black-Briar’s lapdog.

On his way up to the city, Ryndoril passed Sigurd, Belethor’s shop assistant. The man walked past, giving a brief nod of greeting like most people did, then did a double take.

“Oh,” Sigurd said, looking curiously at Ryndoril, who stopped. “You’re looking… well, Ryndoril.”

Ryndoril raised his eyebrows in surprise; he’d hardly ever spoken to the shop assistant before, and barely knew him aside from passing in the streets.

“Ah…thanks?” Ryndoril replied, trying not to sound as confused as he felt. It was a nice compliment, after all, and maybe the man was just in a good mood. “You, too,” he added, feeling it was the polite thing to respond with. His bafflement only increased when Sigurd turned red and hurried off.

Ryndoril stood in the road for a few moments, puzzled. What in the _world_ had that been about? He shook himself a moment later, remembering that he was heading up to the city to find Ondolemar and get some dinner.

He had a similar interaction with Olfina Gray-Mane, whom he’d been friendly with in the past, and then again with Anoriath, who was coming out of the gates to go hunting just as Ryndoril went in them. If he didn’t know any better, he would have thought Anoriath – and possibly even the others – were _flirting_ with him. It perplexed him, as he could think of no reason for the sudden interest.

Once in the city, Ryndoril decided to make a quick stop at Arcadia’s for potion ingredients before going to the house; it would only take a moment longer, he thought, but then she asked him to deliver something to the court wizard. Feeling rather like a courier, Ryndoril accepted with a sigh; he might as well get it over with before heading to the house. His bed was starting to sound better and better.

After he finished his business at Dragonsreach, he found himself having to brush off Fianna, one of the maids at the keep –and she was _definitely_ flirting with him. She didn’t seem to even know his name; she kept calling him “Dragonborn”.

He began to wonder if he was under some sort of strange spell; perhaps Ondolemar would be able to find out? He knew the Altmer was good with magic. In any event, he was happy to head back to the house; it seemed a decent plan at the moment, at least if everyone was going to keep coming onto him.

He’d just reached the bottom of the steps into the Plains District when he was stopped yet again, this time by Nimriel, a somewhat grouchy Bosmer who worked one of the farms outside the city. He’d never spoken to her besides an occasional “hello” when passing one another.

“Hmm,” she said, looking him over with an appraising eye. “I didn’t think you seemed the type. But you’re a strong, capable man, I suppose. What do you say?”

“Er…what?” Ryndoril asked, bewildered. What did he say to _what_? _What_ wasn’t he the type for? He was beginning to feel rather annoyed – had Sanguine somehow contrived this, as another ‘fun’ little prank to play on him?

“No need to play coy,” Nimriel replied brusquely, stepping closer to him. “I could use a strong man around…and the Dragonborn, to boot.”

“Listen,” Ryndoril said, feeling slightly impatient now, “I’m sorry, but I honestly have no idea what – “

“Ryndoril!” a voice interrupted. 

He turned to see Ondolemar striding toward him, a rather hurt look on his face. He realized Nimriel was standing very close to him and took a step back from her. 

“Am I interrupting something?” Ondolemar asked coolly.

“What? No!” Ryndoril replied hastily. “Listen, Ondolemar, can you tell me what’s going on? This is – “

“If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” Nimriel interrupted with a disappointed sigh. She walked off, leaving the two alone.

“Is that – an Amulet of Mara?” Ondolemar asked, eyeing the necklace Ryndoril had put on earlier. “Are you…trying to advertise yourself, Ryndoril?”

“What?” Ryndoril asked, more confused than ever. “Advertise _what_? I have no idea what you’re talking about! I was trying to finish up a couple of errands and get back to you, and suddenly it seems like everyone in Whiterun has this odd _interest_ in me!”

“Well, if you’re walking around telling them you want to get married, that is unsurprising,” Ondolemar replied. He was trying to sound casual, but he didn’t quite manage to keep the hurt from his voice.

“Married?” Ryndoril yelped, eyes wide in shock. “What are you – _did_ Sam do something to me again?” Oh, if that Daedra had interfered with his life again, he had another thing coming!

“Perhaps we ought to take this conversation to the house,” Ondolemar suggested after a brief pause, noticing the interested stares they were attracting.

“Yes, let’s,” Ryndoril agreed, anxious to get his answers. He knew it – he _knew_ Sam had done something to him again! Well, whatever was going on, he was certainly _not_ going to be marrying a hagraven this time!

Ondolemar shut the door behind them after they entered the house, turning to look at Ryndoril with something like trepidation.

“Ryn,” he said softly, trying to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat. “Do you want to get married?”

Ryndoril’s jaw dropped as he stared at the Altmer for a full minute. He couldn’t have heard that correctly.

“I – are you – _proposing_ to me?” Ryndoril choked out, starting to feel sure that this must all be a bizarre dream he was having. It was the only semi-rational explanation.

“What? No!” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “I wasn’t asking you to marry _me_ , I was asking if that’s why you’re wearing that necklace!”

“What does this necklace have to do with anything?” Ryndoril questioned, reaching for it and turning it so he could look at it. “It was payment for that stuff from Enthir, Mallus gave it to me as a payment.”

“It is an amulet of Mara,” Ondolemar explained, staring hard at Ryndoril but not approaching him. He seemed…almost afraid, somehow. “In Skyrim, it is custom to procure an amulet of Mara and wear it visibly to let others know you are interested in finding a partner for marriage.”

“What?” Ryndoril cried, all but yanking the necklace off around his head. “You’re kidding me. He could’ve _told_ me, at least!” The man’s smirk suddenly made more sense. Healing powers, indeed!

“You…weren’t aware of that?” Ondolemar asked, cautiously hopeful.

“No,” Ryndoril answered firmly. “Not even a little bit. Seriously? That’s all it takes – wearing a damn necklace?”

Ondolemar gave him a small, hesitant smile.

“I never said it was a sensible custom,” he replied. “But yes. That would be what was happening.”

“Thank Auri-El,” Ryndoril breathed, greatly relieved at this news. It was just the necklace – there was no spell, no Sanguine. “I was starting to think I’d gone mad, or was under some kind of curse,” he explained to Ondolemar. “Or…Sam.”

“From what I know of Sanguine, he’s unlikely to be so subtle,” Ondolemar snorted. He paused, his eyes on the amulet in Ryndoril’s hands. “You truly didn’t know? You weren’t…trying to advertise your desire to get married?”

“I didn’t have any idea,” Ryndoril promised, shaking his head and walking toward Ondolemar. He put a hand on the Altmer’s arm. “You know you’re the only on I’m interested in anyway, love,” he murmured. “Why would I need to advertise anything?”

“Is that…marriage, I mean…is it something you’d want?” Ondolemar asked, his voice strained.

Ryndoril frowned; he hadn’t really thought about it, but he didn’t understand why Ondolemar was so upset by all of it. It was just a silly little necklace that had caused the problem; was the Altmer really being that jealous?

“I can’t say I’ve ever considered it,” he answered slowly. “Why? Do you? _Were_ you wanting to ask me?”

Ondolemar looked pained as he took a moment before answering. Ryndoril waited patiently for him to speak.

“I…couldn’t,” Ondolemar finally said, his eyes falling to the floor. “Whatever I wished…you know that our relationship is, to put it mildly, inappropriate in the eyes of the Dominion.”

“Oh,” Ryndoril said, and he felt a slight sense of letdown, though he wasn’t quite sure why; it wasn’t like he’d been planning on a wedding or anything.

“If…that was something you wished for,” Ondolemar continued haltingly, as though forcing himself to say the words, “I wouldn’t want to…keep you from it.”

Ryndoril stared at him for a moment before he managed to realize what the Altmer was getting at.

“Oh, love,” Ryndoril said quietly, enveloping the Altmer in a tight hug. “There isn’t anyone else in this world that I want but you. Marriage or not, I don’t care – it’s you, my love. It’ll always be you.”

Ondolemar hesitated, then brought his eyes up from the ground to meet Ryndoril’s brown ones. The earnestness, the sincerity he saw in them was reassuring.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “I know it isn’t exactly ideal…”

“It’s perfectly ideal,” Ryndoril argued. “I love you, Ondolemar. Mara isn’t going to change that, with or without some ceremony. As long as I’ve got you, I’m happy.” 

With that, he pulled the Altmer’s head down to meet his own, kissing him hard as though sealing a promise.

*****

Neither of them knew the location of Alftand, the Dwemer ruin Septimus Signus had mentioned, but Ryndoril was sure someone in Dragonsreach would be able to advise them. He knew the Jarl’s court included travelers and even the court mage, after all; and they knew simply wandering around was a bad way to try to stumble across it.

It was only as they passed the temple of Kynareth on the way up to the Keep that Ryndoril realized his mistake. He saw Ondolemar stop dead, watched as the Altmer’s head turned upward, gazing at the statue of Talos, and then slid back down to stare, open-mouthed, at the robed figure at its base. 

Heimskr, obliviously shouting about his love for Talos.

“Talos the unerring! Talos the unassailable!”

Ondolemar stood rooted to the spot, too shocked to even say anything for a moment. Ryndoril grabbed his arm as soon as his senses caught up to him and he realized the mess that was about to happen.

“Ondolemar,” he pleaded, pulling on the Altmer’s arm. “Come on.”

Ondolemar turned to stare at Ryndoril, utter shock on his face.

“Did you _know_ about this?” Ondolemar demanded, loudly enough that a few people turned their heads to look at them with curiosity.

“Yes,” Ryndoril replied quietly, trying to pull Ondolemar away. “Please – if you’ll let me explain later – “

“Explain?” Ondolemar hissed in fury. “Ryndoril, you’ve got to be – “

“But you were once man!” Heimskr shouted, oblivious.

“ _Please_ ,” Ryndoril begged as Ondolemar’s face grew colder. “You can’t – you can’t arrest him here, now, like this.” Ondolemar glared at him. “No one’s even listening to him,” Ryndoril pointed out, still pleading. “Look. Everyone’s ignoring him.”

“There is a godsforsaken _shrine_ in the middle of the city,” Ondolemar seethed. “Are you really trying to tell me you refuse to allow – “

“No lollygaggin’,” a passing guard snapped, frowning at the two of them from beneath his helmet. “Is there a problem?”

“No, no problem,” Ryndoril answered quickly before Ondolemar could reply. “Come on,” he added desperately, pulling Ondolemar’s arm again. “Let’s go.”

Ondolemar was fuming; _how_ could Ryndoril expect him to stand by and do nothing? But it took only a moment for reason to catch up to him. Making a scene like that in the middle of the city would certainly not help Ryndoril’s cause; he was supposed to be supporting the Dragonborn at the moment, after all. He let out an angry sigh before glaring at the guard, reluctantly following Ryndoril away.

He didn’t say anything on the way up to Dragonsreach, and neither did Ryndoril. As soon as they were through the doors, Ryndoril pulled Ondolemar into a shadowy alcove to the side, looking up at him with worry.

“Love, please,” Ryndoril whispered, glancing around to make sure no one could overhear them. “I’m sorry, I am; I’m _so_ sorry. I know it’s upsetting, but please, don’t do anything.”

“How can you ask that of me?” Ondolemar demanded through clenched teeth. “I am a Thalmor agent, Ryndoril! I am the Commander of the Justiciars in Skyrim! That man – that _shrine_! That is the very thing I was sent here to put a stop to!”

“I know,” Ryndoril replied, his voice trembling. “But you can’t go arresting him and making a scene like that right now; you can’t. I can’t have the entire city against me. It’s my fault you’re even here.”

“Are you trying to tell me your loyalty lies more strongly with that wretched abomination of a human than with me?” Ondolemar snapped.

“Of course not,” Ryndoril replied, stung. “You know better than that, Ondolemar. But you also know that if I’m going to be able to succeed, I can’t have everyone hating me. We talked about this; you know that.”

Ondolemar’s nostrils flared as he tried to calm his furious breathing. He knew Ryndoril was right.

“I know we did,” Ondolemar said slowly, forcing himself to be calmer. “But that was before you led me right past a bloody shrine to their false god, with a man screaming in worship!”

“I know,” Ryndoril said, upset. “It’s my fault – I completely forgot about him. I don’t even hear him anymore – it’s just background noise. You saw,” he added pleadingly. “You saw how everyone was ignoring him. No one listens to him!”

“Then it should not matter if I arrest him!” Ondolemar argued.

“But it will,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “He still lives here; he’s still part of the city. A Thalmor comes and takes him away…people aren’t going to side with the Thalmor. You know that.”

Ondolemar continued to glare for a moment, but soon softened at the hurt in Ryndoril’s eyes. He sighed; he knew he wasn’t being fair to the elf. It wasn’t Ryndoril’s fault.

“Ryn,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Whatever am I supposed to do with you?”

Ryndoril gave him a tentative smile.

“Hopefully not hate me for keeping you from doing your job?” he suggested, making Ondolemar give a small smile of his own.

“I could never hate you,” he replied. “But…Auri-El’s sake, Ryn. You do know that’s what I’m supposed to do. That’s my purpose for being here, for being in Skyrim. It’s how I got to be Commander to begin with.”

“I know,” Ryndoril murmured. “I really am sorry. But…you understand, don’t you?”

“I do,” Ondolemar answered with a heavy sigh. “I don’t like it, at all, but I do understand. I am to aid you, and there seems to be little aid in turning all of Whiterun against you.” He paused for a moment, his ears starting to turn pink before he spoke again. “And more than that…I couldn’t upset you,” he confessed.

It seemed a terrible thing to say – almost blasphemous, really – but he knew it was the truth. Ryndoril’s feelings were more important to him than anything else at this point. Perhaps it wasn’t right, perhaps it wasn’t okay…but it didn’t matter. Only Ryndoril mattered.

The Bosmer grinned Ondolemar’s favorite grin, his eyes crinkling at the sides.

“Thank you, love,” Ryndoril said feelingly. “Just…try to forget he exists, alright? I won’t bring you by him again.”

“I appreciate it,” Ondolemar nodded. “And…I will try.”

Ryndoril glanced around again, ensuring no one was looking, and reached for Ondolemar’s hand, giving it a brief squeeze before letting go.

“It means a lot, love,” he whispered. “Thanks. “Alright,” he added, his voice normal again. “Let’s see if we can find this ruin, shall we?”

*****

Fortunately, it wasn’t too difficult to figure out the approximate location of Alftand. The guards at the Keep had been most helpful.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be in the middle of nothing; it would probably be fairly difficult to find.

Ryndoril wanted to head out quickly. They might as well get started, if it was going to be a difficult journey – and he knew Ondolemar never really liked just sitting around. Surprisingly enough, it was Ondolemar who convinced him they should wait and prepare themselves better for such a journey.

That evening, after a dinner where a distracted Ryndoril didn’t say much, the Bosmer was bent over the table, poring over his map and trying to plot the best route to Alftand.

“Based on what that guard said,” Ryndoril muttered, his eyes drooping slightly, “I think we’d be best off staying at this inn.”

He pointed to a spot on the map near where the guard had directed them. He’d been there before; a little place called Nightgate Inn. It was where he, Brynjolf, and Karliah had stayed to recover from their trip through Irkngthand after pursuing Mercer Frey.

“It shouldn’t be that much farther on, and if we stay directly – “ Ryndoril was cut off as Ondolemar wrapped his arms around the Bosmer from behind, kissing his head. “What?” he asked in surprise, turning his head to look at the Altmer.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, stroking the elf’s hair, “you need to relax.”

“What do you mean?” Ryndoril asked, turning himself around in Ondolemar’s arms so he was facing the taller elf. “I’m relaxed. I’m just trying to plan this out.”

“You are pushing yourself too much,” Ondolemar said softly, concern in his eyes. “You’ve barely stopped to rest in the last few days, and you so recently recovered enough just to travel again. We’ve covered so much ground in the last weeks…because you refuse to stop and breathe.”

“You’re one to talk,” Ryndoril snorted, shaking his head. “Who’s the one who gets all angry when I’m gone more than a few days, because he overworks himself?”

“Do as I say, not as I do,” Ondolemar smirked. He bent down and gave Ryndoril a soft kiss. “Really, Ryn. You don’t have to do everything at once. And…for what it’s worth…I’m sorry.”

Ryndoril stared up at him in confusion at that last statement.

“What in the world do you have to be sorry about?” Ryndoril asked, baffled.

“This morning,” Ondolemar let out a small sigh, stroking Ryndoril’s hair gently. “I was frustrated with the situation, and I made you think I was angry with you. I…suppose I took it out on you, really. I should not have done that…and I’m sorry.”

Ryndoril smiled up at his lover, pleased that he cared.

“Love, it’s okay,” he assured the mer. “I understand – really. Though…I am glad to hear you aren’t actually angry with me,” he confessed. It had been on his mind all day.

“I assure you, I’m not,” Ondolemar promised. “In any case, I do believe it a good idea for you to take a night off. You don’t have to keep going all the time.”

Ryndoril smiled sheepishly up at him. He knew he’d been pushing himself lately, perhaps a little too much.

“Well…are you sure you don’t mind?” Ryndoril asked tentatively. “I mean…I know you don’t like sitting around…”

Ondolemar chuckled at that.

“Ryn, my love,” he said sweetly, tugging on a lock of Ryndoril’s hair, “I didn’t like sitting around Markarth, with people I hated, alone and overworked. I confess that I am more than happy to ‘just sit around’ with you by my side.”

Ryndoril felt himself relax a little, a sigh of relief escaping him as he let go of tension he hadn’t really realized he was holding.

“That’s part of why I wanted to keep moving,” he admitted. “I don’t want you to just…get bored of me.”

“I shall never be bored of you,” Ondolemar promised with a grin. “And you don’t need to wear yourself thin for my sake, anyway. Why don’t we just relax for tonight? I believe I saw a few bottles of wine on the shelf.”

Ryndoril smiled, leaning gratefully into Ondolemar’s embrace. He appreciated the Altmer’s efforts more than he could say.

“That sounds wonderful,” he agreed.

They spent the evening sitting close by the fire, wrapped in one another’s arms and enjoying the wine, the relaxation, and the company. Ryndoril had to admit it was a nice feeling to be relaxing with Ondolemar for a change. They really had been rather busy.

“Would you like to take this up to bed?” Ondolemar asked after some time, a smirk in his voice as he spoke in Ryndoril’s ear, making the Bosmer shiver.

“I’m too tired to be much fun, love,” Ryndoril admitted regretfully.

Ondolemar smiled, kissing the side of Ryndoril’s head.

“I intend on continuing to help you relax,” Ondolemar said softly. “And you’re always fun, for that matter.” He kissed Ryndoril’s head once more, squeezing him gently. “Come on, get up. Let’s at least head up to bed, if you’re so tired anyway.”

Ryndoril smiled and obeyed, letting the Altmer pull him to his feet. Once upstairs, Ondolemar brought Ryndoril into his arms, kissing him hard.

“You’ve been working so hard lately,” Ondolemar murmured against Ryndoril’s lips. “You’ve always been kind enough to take care of me when I was overworked…I believe it’s time I paid you back, is it not?”

Ryndoril chuckled, kissing the corner of Ondolemar’s mouth. The Altmer’s kiss had left him wanting in a way he hadn’t paid attention to in a little while.

“Fair’s far,” Ryndoril agreed.

Ryndoril felt Ondolemar smile, and the Altmer’s hands lost no time in pulling Ryndoril’s tunic over his head. With another soft kiss, Ondolemar continued to undress the smaller elf, unlacing his trousers and pushing them down to the floor.

“Lie back on the bed,” Ondolemar coaxed, his voice husky. “Be comfortable.”

Ryndoril made himself comfortable on the bed while Ondolemar removed his own tunic. The Altmer quickly joined him, wrapping the Bosmer in his arms and kissing him hard. Ryndoril responded with enthusiasm, far more eager than tired now.

Ondolemar ran his fingers across Ryndoril’s bared skin, eliciting a pleased hum. Ryndoril tilted his head far enough to place a soft kiss against Ondolemar’s neck before relaxing again, allowing himself to be lost in the sensations that Ondolemar’s touch created.

“You’re gorgeous like this,” Ondolemar breathed, looking him over.

“Naked?” Ryndoril asked with a cheeky grin. 

Ondolemar’s hand, passing over his chest, pinched a nipple in retaliation. Ryndoril gasped and pressed into the touch, wanting more.

“Yes,” Ondolemar growled, his voice low in Ryndoril’s ear. “And…wanting me.”

“I always want you,” Ryndoril breathed, shuddering as Ondolemar’s breath touched his sensitive ear.

Ondolemar smirked, pleased, as his hand traveled lower. He brushed his fingers gently over Ryndoril’s stomach, down past his waist, caressing his thighs in turn. Ryndoril was twitching, desperate for Ondolemar to touch him, to stroke him, but the Altmer’s deft fingers carefully avoided the Bosmer’s cock.

Instead, Ondolemar distracted the elf with his lips, closing them around the pointed ear tip and sucking gently. The incoherent “guh” he drew from Ryndoril’s throat was a delicious sound, and a surge of desire spiked through him. Without so much as a teasing brush of his fingers, Ondolemar grasped Ryndoril in his hand all at once, stroking the Bosmer firmly and giving his ear a gentle nibble.

“Oh, gods,” Ryndoril whimpered, his hips thrusting into Ondolemar’s touch. “Yes, love.”

Ondolemar grinned, releasing the elf’s ear and kissing his cheek, then his chin, and adjusting so he was more on top of the Bosmer than next to him. He flicked his tongue against Ryndoril’s tan skin, tasting his way down the toned chest, continuing to stroke his cock at a maddeningly slow pace.

He took his time, lingering over every touch, every stroke. Every whimper and groan Ryndoril uttered made him throb in his own trousers. Why hadn’t he removed them? He ought to have known better; he may have intended to only take care of the Bosmer, but driving Ryndoril crazy always served to drive him crazy, too. Regretfully letting go of Ryndoril’s length, he pulled away enough to stand up, drawing a longing moan from the elf.

“Sorry,” he whispered consolingly, hurriedly removing his trousers and tossing them without caring where they landed. In less than a breath, he was back on top of Ryndoril, settling in between the Bosmer’s spread legs.

“Don’t apologize for that,” Ryndoril said with a breathless smile up at the Altmer. “Much nicer view.”

Ondolemar smiled, amused, and ran his hands down Ryndoril’s sides, making the Bosmer squirm at the tickling sensation.

“Don’t tease,” Ryndoril pleaded, gazing imploringly up at Ondolemar. 

It hadn’t been on his mind, not something he consciously thought about; but now that they were doing this again, being close, being intimate…he realized it had been quite a while since they’d last done it. And he’d really missed it.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Ondolemar asked, his voice rougher; hearing his lover’s voice like this never failed to get him worked up. “There are, after all, few pleasures in life as fine as teasing you.”

Ryndoril managed a breathy laugh as Ondolemar’s hands slid further down, resting on the Bosmer’s thighs. Thankfully, the Altmer did seem to take pity on him.

Bending low, lying between the Bosmer’s legs as just the right angle, Ondolemar took Ryndoril’s length between his lips, sucking gently at the tip of it.

“Oh, gods,” Ryndoril moaned, one hand clutching the bed linens while the other came up to grasp at Ondolemar’s hair. “Yes, love, _please_.”

Encouraged by this enthusiastic response the Altmer slid his mouth further onto Ryndoril’s cock, engulfing him fully. Ryndoril’s hips thrust up into the hot mouth around him, unable to stop himself; it was the most incredible thing he’d felt in weeks.

Ondolemar slid his tongue over the cock in his mouth, eliciting more groans of pleasure and encouragement from the needy Bosmer. After a few moments of this, he pulled back so just the tip was between his lips again, and flicked his tongue against the underside. Ryndoril twitched at the sensation it caused, his fingers tightening their grip on Ondolemar’s hair.

The Altmer swiftly began a rhythm along the Bosmer’s length, sliding his lips down to the very base so the head of Ryndoril’s cock was against the back of his throat before pulling back, flicking his tongue, and doing it over again. It wasn’t long before Ryndoril’s legs were shaking around Ondolemar, the feeling enough to drive him mad; and very close to doing so, if the incoherent moans he was letting out were any indication.

Ondolemar was uncomfortably hard against the bed now, but he wouldn’t have stopped for anything; he tried to shift, to ease the discomfort, but the friction against his own length was enough to make him moan, too.

“ _Gods_ ,” Ryndoril gasped, feeling the vibrations around his cock. “Ondolemar – _fuck_ , yes, love. I’m so…so close…” 

Ondolemar increased his efforts, mildly surprised that it had taken so little time but thoroughly pleased about it. He felt Ryndoril shake, then go completely rigid, letting out a howl that sounded almost pained. Ondolemar clung to the elf, nearly gagging himself as he took Ryndoril into his throat, squeezing his hips in encouragement.

After a few seconds the Bosmer relaxed, panting for breath as his body became limp and boneless. Ondolemar pulled away, swallowing what he hadn’t managed to already, and smirked up at the Bosmer.

“Relaxed?” he asked thickly.

Ryndoril laughed, still trying to catch his breath.

“Very,” he finally managed to get out. “Gods, love, that was….you are incredible,” he murmured, stroking Ondolemar’s hair more gently, trying to make up for nearly ripping it from his head moments before. Ondolemar hadn’t really minded. “I needed that more than I realized.” 

Ondolemar smiled at him, kissing his thigh gently and extricating himself from between the Bosmer’s legs.

“Good,” Ondolemar nodded, satisfied. “That was the intent.”

Ryndoril smiled at him, reaching for the Altmer’s hand and squeezing his fingers.

“You’re too kind, love,” he said softly. “Now what about you?” he added, gesturing to Ondolemar’s cock, which was still very obviously in need of attention.

“I shall be fine,” Ondolemar replied dismissively. “I intended to relax _you_ , remember?”

“Yes, and you’ve done a very thorough job,” Ryndoril grinned. “Now come on.” He tugged on Ondolemar’s hand, and the Altmer let himself be pulled down to lay beside Ryndoril on the bed.

“You know you don’t need to do anything in return,” Ondolemar admonished him, but Ryndoril was already sliding his hand down Ondolemar’s chest, pinching a nipple before moving to the other one to give it the same treatment. “Gods,” Ondolemar groaned, unable to protest after that.

“I think you robbed me of my energy,” Ryndoril teased, turning onto his side to better reach the Altmer. “I don’t think I can give you the same treatment. But hopefully this’ll do.” 

Before Ondolemar could think of a reply, Ryndoril’s hand closed around the elf’s cock and started to stroke him.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar groaned, thrusting into his touch. “Yes, _gods_ …” 

Pleasing Ryndoril had already gotten him into quite a state, so he was more than happy to let the Bosmer continue. A moment later, Ryndoril leaned in so his mouth was right next to Ondolemar’s ear and flicked his tongue against it, ceasing all thoughts in the Altmer’s head.

“That’s right, love,” Ryndoril murmured as Ondolemar writhed next to him. “You enjoy this.” 

He tilted his head slightly and captured the tip of the Altmer’s ear between his lips, sucking gently on it, and it seemed that was all the additional stimulation the elf needed. 

Ondolemar shouted Ryndoril’s name as his hips jerked up, spilling all over himself and Ryndoril’s hand. Ryndoril continued murmuring quietly in the elf’s ear and stroking him, ever more gentle until he was entirely spent.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar croaked, gathering his wits again after a moment. “Thank you.” 

Ryndoril laughed, pulling away and looking for his discarded tunic.

“You don’t need to _thank_ me,” he replied. “You know I like doing things for you, too.” 

He found the tunic and got up to retrieve it, wiping off his hand before cleaning up the mess left on Ondolemar as well.

“You’re amazing,” Ondolemar murmured, pulling the elf down onto the bed again when he’d finished. “I love you, you know.” 

Ryndoril smiled, brushing a bit of Ondolemar’s golden hair from his face and leaning in to kiss him.

“I love you, too. And I think I’m much more ready to go on this trip tomorrow now,” he added cheekily. 

Ondolemar chuckled, already sleepy.

“Good,” he nodded, pulling the smaller elf close. “Then I’ve done my job.” Ryndoril placed a soft kiss to the Altmer’s bare chest before resting his head on it, snuggling in as close to him as he could.


	6. Chapter 6

Nightgate Inn was just as isolated as Ryndoril remembered, but it still proved a good place to rest for a night before trying to seek out the Dwemer ruin. The elves packed well, knowing the extra weight would be worth it if they were stuck in the ruin. Having been through them before, Ryndoril knew it was likely to take a while, and even Ondolemar had an idea of what to expect, having lived in Markarth for so long.

They headed in the direction their map indicated after leaving the inn, though there was no clear path marked. It felt like they were accomplishing little other than stumbling all over the snowy mountain for hours.

Finally, they came across a camp; further investigation revealed it had been used by an expedition for Alftand. They had found their destination.

“It’s _huge_ ,” Ryndoril said, staring around them. The snow mostly concealed the ruin, but turrets and domes stuck out here and there for as far as his eyes could see. “Where would we even start?”

“Best to use the wisdom of those who came before us,” Ondolemar suggested. “Someone put bridges in place; we may as well follow them.”

The bridges didn’t seem all that secure, but since everything else was covered in snow and offered no hint of where to go, they pressed on. It wasn’t long before they reached the safety of a cavern, just beyond which was the massive Dwemer ruin of Alftand.

Even their overprovisioned packs were feeling like they might be inadequate as the two began exploring the ruin. It felt almost endless.

They wandered through the ruin until they were tired, hoping they were at least moving forward; it was sometimes hard to tell in these ruins, as they were so intricate and large. When they couldn’t keep going, they stopped to make camp and rest, taking turns on watch.

So passed the first day, then the second, and finally a third.

“This is starting to feel impossible,” Ondolemar grumbled when they stopped to make camp the third night. 

Neither one liked sleeping in their fitful shifts for a watch, but they weren’t comfortable sleeping without someone on the lookout. One couldn’t know when a brutal Falmer might stumble across them, and the still-very-active Dwemer artifacts were just as hard to deal with.

Then there had been the memorable incident with the Khajiit; he was clearly mad on skooma, and it seemed from his ranting that he might have killed his brother. He had attacked the pair on sight, forcing them to kill him for the sake of their own lives.

Ryndoril had, as usual, come across many things he wanted to keep; Ondolemar tried to point out that they shouldn’t keep picking up so much to carry along with them, but he too found a good number of fascinating Dwemer objects.

The Bosmer found this highly amusing, and kept his tendency to pick up everything in check in favor of carrying objects that Ondolemar liked. The Altmer didn’t have that much of his own, and Ryndoril did this sort of thing all the time; he liked letting Ondolemar enjoy himself a little this way. And, he thought fondly, stuffing another Dwemer cog into his pack, it was always nice to see Ondolemar fascinated by something. 

The Altmer was nearly overjoyed to realize that the various Dwemer artifacts were powered by soul gems, of all things; he eagerly gathered up as many as they could carry. Ryndoril had also passed on some of his lockpicking knowledge to Ondolemar, so he could help unlock old chests and things, too.

“Do you feel no remorse stealing these things?” Ondolemar asked at one point, shaking his head as Ryndoril broke into another Dwemer chest. “They aren’t yours, after all.”

“I’m a thief,” Ryndoril reminded him with a grin. “But really, love – the Dwemer aren’t using them. Someone might as well get some use – or gold – out of the things, right? And who better than adventurers like us?” 

Ondolemar just laughed, shaking his head, but couldn’t really think of an argument; the Bosmer made sense.

After a bit more time had passed, the elves found themselves in a Dwemer torture chamber. Ondolemar saw the racks and realized what it was an instant before Ryndoril did. He turned, intending to tell the smaller elf to stay back, but Ryndoril had already seen.

The Bosmer stood frozen, staring openmouthed at one of the racks.

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly, putting a reassuring hand on Ryndoril’s shoulder. “It’s alright.”

He felt the Bosmer shudder before looking up at him, fear in his eyes; it couldn’t have been plainer that he was fighting to stay calm.

“I – “ Ryndoril choked, breaking off and shutting his eyes tight. He took a deep breath before opening them again. “Sorry. Being ridiculous.”

Ryndoril had already been feeling a little edgy, not having seen the sky in so long, but he managed to keep it under control. The sudden surprise of a torture chamber did nothing to help his state of mind, however.

“No,” Ondolemar said firmly, squeezing Ryndoril’s shoulder. “Don’t apologize, Ryndoril. It’s fine.” He paused, watching the Bosmer try to collect himself. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah,” Ryndoril breathed, a shudder in his voice. He felt stupid; he had seen any number of these damn things plenty of times before. They were practically a given in the ruins Ryndoril traveled. This time…he just hadn’t expected _this_.

“Shall I fix it?” Ondolemar asked, smirking at Ryndoril with a glint in his eye.

Ryndoril glanced at him and had to laugh.

“I don’t think I’m up for being seduced at the moment, love, even by you,” he said, still a little shaky, though the humor helped. 

“ _Not_ what I meant,” Ondolemar snorted dryly.

In the blink of an eye, he threw a handful of flame at one of the torture racks; it practically disintegrated before their eyes.

“That works,” Ryndoril nodded with a weak chuckle.

“Want to do the other?” Ondolemar asked lightly.

“I would, but I’m not sure I should wake up every living thing in the place at once with a Shout,” Ryndoril smiled. “But be my guest, oh great protector.”

Ondolemar shook his head in amusement before setting the other rack ablaze as well.

“There. Do you feel better?”

“A little,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. “Er…sorry. Again. I mean, I’ve come across them before. I’m being silly.”

“It isn’t the same thing,” Ondolemar insisted, and he squeezed the Bosmer to him in a brief hug. “You’re alright now, Ryn. I promise.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril murmured, still feeling foolish, but he was glad that Ondolemar was being so understanding.

A little while later, they came across a door with a label on it; “Animonculory”. It was new, somewhere they hadn’t been yet, so they knew they were progressing, however slow it felt. They continued to wander, Ryndoril wishing they had some better idea of what, precisely, they ought to be looking for. It was comforting that they were moving forward, at the very least. They had found some of the others who’d been mentioned as part of the expedition from the camp.

It was somewhat less than comforting that they were all in the form of bodies.

They were coming upon another doorway when Ondolemar caught the sound of voices, which seemed to be arguing. He put out an arm to stop Ryndoril from going forward, pressing a finger to his lips to indicate they should be quiet.

Ryndoril nodded his understanding, readying his bow in case he needed it, and the two crept closer.

Just as they came within sight of the owners of the voices, both people began to fight. Bewildered, Ryndoril and Ondolemar watched carefully; they weren’t about to get involved if they didn’t need to.

The next thing they knew, both people were dead. They’d killed each other.

“That…was _not_ what I expected,” Ryndoril muttered, creeping slowly into the room.

“This has to be it, though,” Ondolemar said, motioning to the odd contraption in the middle of the room. “The place where we access Blackreach. They were fighting over the glory of it.”

“Right,” Ryndoril agreed, glancing nervously at the two recently-dead bodies on the floor. “Doesn’t it seem…a little… _creepy_?” he asked. “That expedition that camped outside…they’re all dead now. Every one of them.”

“That is because they were all foolish,” Ondolemar answered dismissively. “We are far more intelligent and skilled than any of them. And you have me. They didn’t.”

Ryndoril couldn’t help but give a laugh at that, relaxing slightly and nodding.

“You have a point. Well, shall we?”

At Ondolemar’s nod, Ryndoril pressed the button on the Dwemer machine, causing the entire chamber to begin to shake. He was unpleasantly reminded of his trip to Irkngthand, where Mercer Frey had caused a similar reaction in a Dwemer ruin, nearly drowning them all; but nothing happened except a staircase being revealed.

The pair of elves descended, both remaining highly alert and ready for danger, but none was found. A door greeted them at the bottom of the staircase.

“After you,” Ondolemar nodded to Ryndoril, smiling slightly. Ryndoril opened the door, and they stepped through.

*****

“Whoa.”

“ _Incredible_.”

Blackreach was like nothing either of them had ever seen.

It was huge, for one thing; a massive underground cavern. It was impossible to even see the edge of it. Seeing _up_ , however, was something else altogether.

The ceiling seemed to be made of the night sky; all was dark, except for the thousands of tiny dots of light caught in the blackness. And then there were the gigantic glowing mushrooms, with something like tentacles reaching down nearly to the floor. Aside from those points of light, it was dark as a moonless night; it was impossible to see anything beyond a few feet in front of them.

“I’ve used glowing mushrooms in potions before,” Ryndoril murmured, feeling the odd need to whisper. “But I’ve never seen anything like these.”

“It’s difficult to believe such a place even exists,” Ondolemar replied, also feeling the need to keep his voice quiet.

“It’s kind of creepy,” Ryndoril added, glancing uneasily up at the cavernous blackness above them. “Like…being trapped.”

“We aren’t trapped,” Ondolemar said firmly, not wanting Ryndoril to be upset. “There was a way in, there will be at least one way out.”

“If we can find it,” Ryndoril said anxiously. “This place looks…massive. And I can’t even see anything.”

“Here.”

Ondolemar conjured a magelight, a small orb of glowing light that sat just above their heads, illuminating the area around them so they could see more of their surroundings. Beyond that was still nothing but blackness.

The Altmer glanced at Ryndoril, noticing the elf didn’t seem any calmer, and squeezed his arm reassuringly.

“It will be fine. We’ll figure it out,” he promised.

Ryndoril gave him a small, unsure smile, but steeled himself.

“Nothing to do but get started, I guess,” Ryndoril said with a decisive nod, and the two moved forward.

Almost immediately, they were set upon by more Dwemer guardians, though they’d had enough practice at this point to defeat them easily. Ondolemar healed a cut on Ryndoril’s arm and the pair continued, though Ryndoril stopped short after only a few steps.

“What?” Ondolemar asked in an anxious whisper, glancing around. “Is something coming?”

“Shh,” Ryndoril whispered, listening hard. He grinned, looking to his left and finding what he thought he’d heard; nirnroot.

Ondolemar made an impatient noise in his throat when he realized what Ryndoril had been doing, but couldn’t help the fond smile that crept over his face all the same.

“Whoa,” Ryndoril went on, picking up the nirnroot. “It’s…red. This is strange.”

“Is it rare?” Ondolemar asked, knowing the Bosmer’s excitement for rare plants.

“Nirnroot is rare,” Ryndoril replied, examining the plant closely. “ _Red_ nirnroot…I’ve never even seen it before. Amazing.”

“Well, don’t go eating it down here,” Ondolemar teased. “I don’t think poisoning yourself right now would be the best idea.”

“Don’t be rude,” Ryndoril snorted, amused. He put it gently in his satchel of ingredients. “That’s fascinating. I wonder if it only grows down here?”

Ondolemar shrugged, and the two moved on. They didn’t really know what they were looking for, exactly; they planned to simply keep their eyes open for anything unusual. It didn’t take them long to find something.

“Who could possibly live here?” Ondolemar asked, mystified as they came across an unmistakably house-like building.

“I think the question is more like ‘what’,” Ryndoril replied grimly, getting his bow ready before opening the door. “Probably more Falmer.”

Once inside, though, they found the one-room building empty of Falmer or any other enemy, though it was rather smelly. Ryndoril immediately noticed another of the strange red nirnroot plants on a desk, glowing away. It looked as though someone did live there; or at least, they had. It hadn’t been touched in some time.

“Ryndoril, look,” Ondolemar said, getting the Bosmer’s attention. 

Ryndoril was going over the potion ingredients laid out over the room, but looked up at Ondolemar’s prompting. The Altmer was pointing to a book; upon looking closer, he saw the book was surrounded by a dusty skeleton. He shuddered.

“I really don’t like this,” he muttered, heading over to the skeleton. He’d come across dead bodies and their journals before, but it was never exactly a pleasant experience. He picked up the book.

“It looks as though plenty else lives here somewhere,” Ondolemar pointed out dryly. “He surely didn’t pierce _himself_ with so many arrows.”

“I’d be more surprised if there _weren’t_ any Falmer around here,” Ryndoril murmured distractedly, scanning the book. “This is his journal,” he added, indicating the body. “Sinderion. He was working on research with the nirnroot – crimson nirnroot, he says it’s called.”

“May I?” Ondolemar asked, holding out his hand for the book.

Ryndoril handed it over, going back to his search for alchemy ingredients among the shelves and baskets in the room.

“I wonder why he was so sure he wanted thirty of them?” Ondolemar wondered as he read. “That seems a rather arbitrary number.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril agreed. “I don’t know. He mentioned a farm in the Rift, though – maybe I could try to find that. Someone else might know more.”

“You would,” Ondolemar snorted, shaking his head. He couldn’t blame Ryndoril, though; he’d likely do the same for some rare enchantment or knowledge. Admittedly, he was a little curious, too. “Don’t load up your pack too much,” he cautioned, watching Ryndoril picking out ingredients. “You don’t know what else we may have to bring with us before we can get out of here.”

“Yeah, good point,” Ryndoril sighed, looking longingly at the ingredients he hadn’t yet picked up. “Well, we should probably get going. At least get away from the smell.”

“Agreed,” Ondolemar nodded.

*****

Without any idea which direction held their goal, they chose to follow the road leading toward a waterfall. Ryndoril reasoned that if nothing else, it was at least a noticeable landmark to help guide them.

The entire place still held the same eerie glow wherever they went, courtesy of the giant mushrooms. The cavern smelled strange; damp and earthy, which could be expected, but also distinctly like _magic_. 

Time passed, but there was no way to tell how much; Ryndoril was too restless to stop, though, so they pressed on. 

After some time, another building came into view; this one was larger, with an odd, yellow orb hanging above it.

“A substitute for the sun?” Ryndoril pondered as they approached.

“But the Falmer are blind,” Ondolemar reminded him. “What do they need with a sun?”

“True,” Ryndoril conceded. “Well, I guess our Scroll is more likely to be in there than buried in a giant mushroom, huh?”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar said with a chuckle. “Along with Falmer, no doubt. We should go carefully.”

Much to their surprise, the first thing they saw upon entering the ruin was a man. A very obviously _human_ man.

“What in Auri-El’s name?” Ondolemar murmured, staring at the man, who had yet to notice him.

“Maybe he knows something,” Ryndoril whispered, taking care that his voice didn’t carry.

“About the Scroll?” Ondolemar replied skeptically. “Even if he does, he’s not likely to politely share it with us.”

“Still, it seems kind of cruel to shoot him like we do the Falmer,” Ryndoril reasoned.

“I can’t imagine anyone sane living down here, but…it’s possible,” Ondolemar said, unconvinced. “Just be careful.”

Ryndoril nodded to show that he’d heard, and began to walk toward the man. No sooner did he open his mouth to say hello, however, than the man pulled out a sword and ran at the pair.

The fight was over quickly; Ryndoril pierced the man’s neck with an arrow before he’d crossed even half the distance between them, and Ondolemar’s simultaneous ice spike ensured he stayed down.

The commotion had attracted others, to their dismay. It seemed the ruin was filled with humans and Falmer alike, all of whom ran out to see about the commotion. 

It turned into a fight for their lives; the mer were skilled, but their enemies had the strength of sheer numbers. By the time all was quiet again, Ryndoril and Ondolemar were both drained, and Ryndoril needed to make good use of his healing potions. 

“We’re never going to get out of here,” Ryndoril said hopelessly, staring around at all the open doors through which Falmer had just run at them. “We’re stuck, Ondolemar. This place is unfathomable.”

“Relax,” Ondolemar said, trying to be reassuring, though he was feeling a bit on edge too. “We’ll get out, Ryn.”

“How?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head and sounding on the verge of tears. Ondolemar looked at him, alarmed; he hadn’t realized Ryndoril was so worked up over it. “It could be in any of these buildings here, or anywhere else in this massive cavern! It’s dark, and we’re _trapped_!” He realized he was shaking, and he sounded ridiculous – but the thought wouldn’t leave his head.

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar said firmly, taking the Bosmer by the shoulders, “listen to me. You’re fine. We are not trapped.”

“But we are,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head and feeling hysterical, but he couldn’t stop it. “Even if we find the Scroll, how could we hope to get out? Ever?”

“We _will_ get out, one way or another,” Ondolemar said, squeezing the Bosmer’s arms. “I will not let you remain trapped here, Ryndoril. You know this. I will get us out of here. You have my word.” 

Ryndoril considered for a moment, trying to take the Altmer’s words to heart, and then threw himself at Ondolemar, flinging his arms around the taller elf and clinging tightly to him.

“I’m sorry,” Ryndoril trembled. “I don’t know…I’m just…sorry.”

“Hush,” Ondolemar soothed, rubbing Ryndoril’s back gently. He wished he could help; all of this was bound to get to anyone, and he hated that he couldn’t fix it. Even he was feeling the strain; they hadn’t slept in hours, and Auri-El only knew what time it was. “You’ve nothing to apologize for, my love. All is fine; trust me.” He didn’t know what else to do besides try to reassure Ryndoril. He certainly didn’t have any answers.

“Thanks,” Ryndoril whispered, taking several deep breaths to try and calm himself. “This is just…it’s all too much. I keep…I keep thinking of being in that dungeon,” he confessed quietly. “Not being able to see the sky, or know what time it was, or…anything.”

Ondolemar felt his heart squeeze; he hadn’t thought of it that way, and it pained him to know it was still bothering Ryndoril.

“It’s all okay, Ryndoril,” he murmured, kissing the top of the Bosmer’s head. “You’re not there anymore. And I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Ryndoril whispered, willing himself to calm down. 

The pair stood for a while longer, Ondolemar doing his best to offer what comfort he could. After a while, Ryndoril let out a long breath, steeling himself.

“Alright. What next?” He could hear the uncertainty in his voice, but was still quite determined.

Ondolemar smiled slightly at him and let him go, looking around.

“Well, I have my doubts that the Scroll would’ve been in here,” Ondolemar said thoughtfully. “It’s sure to have been well-protected, and surely that protection would not have cultivated such a community as this.”

“I guess,” Ryndoril said, skeptical but trusting Ondolemar’s judgment. “So…”

“We keep going,” Ondolemar said decisively. “We see what else looks helpful.”

“Right,” Ryndoril nodded. He had no other plan; it was as good an idea as anything else.

The two had barely exited the strange ruin with the sun-like orb over it before something else caught Ondolemar’s attention and he pointed off to the side.

“That tower looks promising,” he noted. “Or,” he amended with a bit of a smirk, “it looks like the next logical thing to look at, anyway.”

Ryndoril gave him a small smile; he’d been about to comment that hardly anything seemed promising down here. He was grateful for Ondolemar’s attempt to lighten the mood.

“Lead on, Commander,” he agreed.

Ondolemar gave the Bosmer’s fingers a gentle squeeze as they set off toward the tower.

“Tower of Mzark,” Ondolemar read as they approached it several minutes later. The words were carved into a small plaque next to the door. “Do you think it’s just another ruin?”

“Mzark…” Ryndoril muttered, thinking hard. “Wait. Tower Mzark! That old madman definitely mentioned Mzark.”

“ _How_ can you remember that?” Ondolemar asked in disbelief.

“I listened to him,” Ryndoril grinned wryly. “Er…mostly. But that much I definitely remember.”

“Then we carry on,” Ondolemar nodded. “Let’s go.”

Ryndoril opened the door, and they headed inside. Looking around, Ryndoril’s heart sank; it indeed looked like nothing more than another Dwemer ruin.

“Don’t tell me we have to get through another one,” Ryndoril said, trying not to panic; he wasn’t sure he could handle the idea of so much more.

“If that man mentioned the name of it, then we must be close,” Ondolemar pointed out. “It will be fine. We can do this.”

Ryndoril blew out a breath, trying to convince himself that Ondolemar was right. He gave the Altmer a grateful smile.

“Thanks, love,” he murmured. “Sorry for being…well. Anyway. Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it,” Ondolemar assured him.

They quickly made their way along the only obvious route; this place, at least, didn’t seem to have endless rooms and halls in which to get themselves lost. It wasn’t long before they found themselves in an area that didn’t seem to have much room at all. 

Something that looked like a large sphere – larger than the room itself – sat in the middle of the room. It was adorned with the strange blue glass that Dwemer favored in their inventions.

“ _That_ looks promising,” Ryndoril said, making Ondolemar chuckle.

With little other choice in where to go, they followed a ramp that led upward. Once they reached the top, both elves stopped, staring in awe.

From their new vantage point, they were looking out over the top of the sphere and down onto the most intricate Dwemer contraption either of them had yet seen. Five pillars rose before them, four each with a different button on it and a lone stand off to one side. The center pillar was covered in strange markings with glowing blue lights. 

“By Auri-El,” Ondolemar whispered, his eyes wide. “This is…unlike anything I’ve ever seen.”

“I know,” Ryndoril replied, whispering as well. “I uh…think we found it.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar agreed with an amazed laugh. “Well…what do we do now?”

“That madman said something about the lexicon,” Ryndoril remembered, pulling himself out of his awed daze and searching for the bulky cube he had in his pack, examining it. “Something about focusing? It looks like it might fit here.”

He placed the lexicon that Septimus Signus had given him on the stand to the side; at once, the buttons on the pillars lit up. 

“Should I try pushing these?” Ryndoril wondered.

“I suppose so,” Ondolemar said, looking unsure. “I’ve no idea what else you’d try.”

Ryndoril pressed one of the buttons, and both elves jumped at the sudden deafening noise. The device around the sphere had started moving, along with what looked like a series of lenses in the ceiling.

“Whoa,” Ryndoril said, watching as everything moved before stilling again, leaving the room as silent as before. He looked over at Ondolemar to find the Altmer looking just as stunned as he felt.

“Do they all do the same thing?” Ondolemar wondered, pressing a different button. It, too, made everything move – though in a different way than the first. “There’s a pattern to them,” Ondolemar noted with a thoughtful frown, watching as things settled once more. “We need to figure out when to push which button. It’s a puzzle.”

“Great,” Ryndoril groaned tiredly. He had been in more than enough ruins and ancient tombs with puzzles to know that even the simplest ones usually took a bit of time, and he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of having to figure out this one – especially as it was bound to be far more complex. “I don’t suppose you have any idea how we might figure the puzzle out?”

Ondolemar looked over at the Bosmer, and Ryndoril could see a light in the Altmer’s eyes that meant excitement. Ryndoril nearly laughed; he should’ve guessed Ondolemar would be fascinated by this.

“We just need to figure out what each button does,” Ondolemar explained. “And then find the correct pattern!”

“That could take days,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head. He couldn’t muster up the same excitement as the Altmer obviously felt.

Ondolemar gave him a reassuring smile.

“It won’t,” he promised. “I can do this. I _enjoy_ doing this. I promise you, I can figure it out. You should rest.”

“With that racket?” Ryndoril asked wryly, motioning to the lenses that caused such a terrible noise when the buttons were pressed. Ondolemar laughed. “Anyway, it’s my responsibility, right? I’m the Dragonborn. It’s not your job to deal with this.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head, “you’re not alone in this. You needn’t put such a burden on yourself all the time. Allow me to help you.”

Ryndoril smiled softly, walking over to the Altmer and pressing a kiss to his hand.

“Thanks, love,” he murmured, staring into Ondolemar’s eyes. “I appreciate you, you know.”

“Then sit down for a bit and let me have my fun,” Ondolemar grinned, kissing Ryndoril’s head.

Ryndoril chuckled before doing as the elf requested. He had to admit, it was fascinating to watch the Altmer work. It reminded him of standing and watching him at the enchanting table so long ago. Ondolemar walked back and forth between the buttons, alternating between pushing them and studying the ceiling. It was oddly mesmerizing, watching the strange lenses moving and twisting and coming back to rest…

“Ryn!” Ondolemar’s voice called excitedly, making Ryndoril’s eyes snap open. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them; how had he managed to fall asleep? “I’ve done it!”

“Wow,” Ryndoril said hoarsely, trying to focus his sleepy eyes and struggling to his feet. “Amazing, Ondolemar!” He looked around, but saw that aside from a few beams of light, the sphere didn’t really look any different. “Where is it, then?”

“There’s one more thing to do,” Ondolemar said, his eyes practically dancing. “This is the last button that needs pushed. I…” he trailed off for a moment, glancing at the button before returning his eyes to Ryndoril. “I thought you deserved the honor.”

Ryndoril grinned at him, feeling quite awake now.

“That’s kind of you, love,” he said, taking Ondolemar’s arm and giving it a squeeze. “But I think that honor’s yours. You’ve done more than enough to earn it.”

“You’re sure?” Ondolemar asked, barely concealing his excitement, and Ryndoril laughed.

“Very,” he nodded. “Go on, love. Finish this.”

Ondolemar squeezed Ryndoril’s arm in return before hitting the last button. There was a grinding, clicking commotion – louder than anything that had yet happened – and a smaller sphere was lowered into view amongst all the lenses. It was swirling around a large, green stone in the center, and then all at once, it stopped with the rings of the sphere surrounding it. Slowly, it lowered, right to the platform in the middle of the giant sphere. With a last groaning click, the stone split in half, revealing what was unmistakably the Elder Scroll.

“Auri-El,” both elves murmured together, glancing at each other and laughing a moment later.

“We’ve done it,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I can hardly believe it. We…we found it.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar nodded, just as amazed. “We should take it and get moving,” he added. “No point sticking around here. Come on.”

He started toward it, but Ryndoril put a hand on his arm to stop him.

“Hang on,” Ryndoril said, eyeing the Scroll warily. “I…I think I should be the one to carry it. I mean…what if it does something horrible?”

“Then why would I want _you_ touching it?” Ondolemar asked, frowning.

“But…maybe since I’m the Dragonborn, I _can_ ,” Ryndoril said. “I mean…I don’t know if it makes sense,” he admitted. “But I think that’s what Paarthurnax was trying to say, about why I might be able to handle reading it and everything. I’m just…definitely not willing to risk you.”

Ondolemar stared hard at him for a moment before relenting with a nod.

“Alright,” he agreed; the Bosmer made a fair point, even if Ondolemar didn’t really like it. “You take it, then. Just…Ryn?” Ryndoril looked at him expectantly. “Be…be careful, won’t you?”

Ryndoril smiled Ondolemar’s favorite smile, his eyes crinkling.

“I will, love. Don’t worry.”

He went confidently over to the platform where the Elder Scroll now sat and tentatively reached for it. Nothing happened when he touched it, and he let out a little sigh of relief. Upon picking it up, however, he nearly dropped it again.

“It’s heavy!” Ryndoril exclaimed in surprise, pulling it more securely into his grasp. It weighed far more than its size would suggest.

“Too heavy?” Ondolemar asked anxiously, hurrying toward the Bosmer to help, but Ryndoril shook his head.

“No, I just wasn’t expecting it,” he said. He looked at the hefty Scroll in his hands wonderingly. “I thought it would feel different.”

“What do you mean?” Ondolemar asked, curious.

“It just…I don’t know. I mean, it’s heavy, but it just…feels like a really heavy Scroll,” Ryndoril said. “I thought it might feel…magical. Ethereal. Something.”

“It _does_ feel powerful,” Ondolemar said, standing near enough now to notice. “Can you not tell?”

“Not really,” Ryndoril shrugged. He smirked. “Wonder what it says? Think I should read it?” He let Ondolemar look utterly horrified for just a moment before laughing. “Don’t worry, love, I’m not that dense.”

“I should hope not,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “Bad enough you’re supposed to carry it up the mountain and read it there. You don’t need to tempt fate.”

“True enough,” Ryndoril agreed. “Help me get it in my pack, will you?”

Ondolemar helped Ryndoril with his pack, taking some of the Bosmer’s burden himself so the Scroll would fit.

“Now, how do we get out of here?” Ryndoril wondered, looking around. “These kind of rooms usually have some sort of exit.”

“Are you sure you want to leave?” Ondolemar asked. “You didn’t get thirty of that crimson nirnroot like you wanted. You only ended up with about a dozen.”

“I know,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head. “I would’ve liked to. But…I can’t go back there right now. I just…can’t.”

“I understand,” Ondolemar nodded. “Perhaps we can return sometime for it.”

“Maybe,” Ryndoril agreed, not entirely sure if he cared enough to bother. “Anyway, that journal mentioned a farm in the Rift. Maybe I could find out more there first.”

“A good plan,” Ondolemar nodded. “There’s a door over there,” he added, pointing at an opening partially hidden by the wall. “It could take us out of here.”

“Gods, I hope so,” Ryndoril said, feeling tired again. “Let’s give it a try.”

Opening the door revealed a lift, much like the ones they’d seen earlier in their journey. Hoping against hope that it would take them to the surface, Ryndoril pulled the lever. 

A few moments later, fresh air swept in upon them as they rose through the ground into a snowy mountainside. 

“Oh, thank all the gods,” Ryndoril breathed, taking several long, deep breaths. So great was his relief at being back out in open air that he was shaking even after the lift came to a stop. 

Ondolemar wrapped his arms around the trembling Bosmer and held him.

“I told you,” he murmured soothingly. “We are no longer trapped. You’re alright now.”

“I know,” Ryndoril replied, glad for the Altmer’s comfort. “Gods. Thank you, Ondolemar.”

“You’re welcome,” Ondolemar said, kissing the top of Ryndoril’s head. “Would you like to rest a little while?”

“I guess it depends where we are,” Ryndoril said with a tired laugh. 

They found the lever to open the gate to the lift and stepped out, looking around. 

“Is this the same camp we started at?” Ryndoril asked, bewildered to find a tent.

“No,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “This one’s completely different. Where…where _are_ we?”

“I don’t recognize anything,” Ryndoril said worriedly, looking around for something, anything familiar. He squinted off into the distance, staring hard for a moment before speaking again. “Is that Dragonsreach?” he asked, pointing. It was hard to tell, from this far away. 

Ondolemar looked in the direction he was pointing, trying to see if he could tell.

“You know, I think it is,” Ondolemar concluded. “Yes, it must be,” he added, pointing off to the side of it. “That’s the Throat of the World there.”

“Which means…we’re _miles_ from where we started.” Ryndoril felt stunned, just considering the massive cavern.

“Indeed,” Ondolemar, replied. “That explains why it took so long, I suppose. Well…shall we make for Whiterun, then?”

“Please,” Ryndoril agreed fervently. “I think I need to rest for a couple of days. Or years.” 

Ondolemar chuckled, taking Ryndoril’s hand.

“I think you’ve more than earned it,” he agreed.


	7. Chapter 7

It was with no small sense of relief that Ryndoril and Ondolemar finally reached the gates of the Whiterun. They wearily made their way into Ryndoril’s home inside the city, glad of some rest after such an arduous trip to the Dwemer ruins and back.

Much to Ryndoril’s surprise, they found his housecarls inside, sitting by the fire and looking rather anxious.

“Ryndoril!” Lydia exclaimed, getting to her feet as they came through the door. “You made it.”

“We hoped you’d come back here,” Argis added tensely.

“It’s my house,” Ryndoril replied, bewildered as he and Ondolemar removed their heavy packs. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“We didn’t know where you were,” Lydia informed him, moving almost automatically to help with the packs. “We just hoped you wouldn’t go back to Markarth.”

“Why not?” Ryndoril asked, worried. “What’s happened?”

“The Stormcloaks have taken the Reach,” Argis said, glancing at Ondolemar. “They’ve deposed Jarl Igmund.”

“Oh,” Ryndoril frowned. “Well, they can’t just stop me from going through there, after all,” he added.

“They _could_ do whatever they wanted,” Argis replied.

“And…well, it’s not you they’d want to stop,” Lydia added, flicking her own gaze to Ondolemar.

Ryndoril looked over at the Altmer, too; he was looking suspiciously at the two Nords.

“As though I could not handle myself,” Ondolemar snorted, offended. “What difference should it make? I no longer reside at the Keep, anyway.”

“They’re on the lookout for you,” Lydia said harshly. “We heard them. They want you bad; they practically tore up the city looking for you.”

Ondolemar’s face changed from offended to surprised; he hadn’t expected that. Ryndoril’s worry increased at the news.

“They’re after him?” Ryndoril asked. “I mean, I know he’s a Thalmor, but – “

“He’s the Thalmor _Commander_ ,” Lydia replied, looking back at Ryndoril. “And they expected to be able to kill him when they took the city. They weren’t happy that he wasn’t there, and I think they’re all the more determined for it.”

“Ulfric’s soldiers are supposed to kill you if they see you in the city,” Argis said pointedly to Ondolemar. “If you’d rather we let you walk into a trap like that than try to warn you, be my guest. Forget we said anything.”

“No,” Ryndoril said hurriedly, shaking his head. “No, Argis – thank you. Thank you both very much.” He glanced at Ondolemar, who was looking disgruntled.

“Yes,” Ondolemar nodded grudgingly. “I…do appreciate it.”

“You’d do well to be careful if you go back there anyway,” Lydia told Ryndoril. “Either of you. You were Jarl Igmund’s Thane, but now they’ve got that Silver-Blood on the throne…and no one who was an ally to Igmund is welcome company.”

“ _Him_?” Ondolemar yelped in outrage. “That Auri-El damned heathen, ruling the Reach? You’re joking.”

“He’s always really supported Jarl Ulfric,” Argis pointed out. “Who better to rule the city for him than a loyal lapdog?”

“He’s right,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head. “You always knew that, love.”

“Yes, but _still_ ,” Ondolemar muttered angrily. “Outrageous. So, what, he’s removed Ryndoril as Thane of the city? What about the Forsworn business? I thought the Silver-Bloods _liked_ him.”

“Well, Ryndoril killed the King in Rags for them, and they don’t really need him for anything else,” Lydia reminded them. “Now they’ve got Ulfric’s backing, and he can do whatever he likes. You know how he feels about elves.”

“And yes,” Argis agreed, “he has removed Ryndoril as Thane. Took back his house, too.”

“What?” Ryndoril yelled. “He can’t just – I _bought_ that house! All my things are there!”

“Not anymore,” Lydia said grimly. “Don’t worry, Ryndoril. It’s all here now. We brought everything.”

Ryndoril stared at them both, open-mouthed.

“You…you did?” he asked quietly, and they both nodded at him. “Thank you. I…wow. Thank you.”

“We weren’t going to let _them_ have it,” Lydia informed him, a steely note in her voice.

“What about you?” Ryndoril asked, turning to Argis. “I mean, if I’m not your Thane anymore….why would you - ?”

“You think I wanted to stay there, ruled by that Silver-Blood?” Argis snorted. “And anyway…I don’t really care. I respect you, my Thane – er – Ryndoril,” he amended. “I resigned from the Jarl’s service. Helped Lydia carry all your things out of the city, and we were just hoping you’d come here before trying to go back there.”

“I don’t think you have anything to _really_ worry about,” Lydia assured Ryndoril. “You’re not Thane, but they wouldn’t really have reason to bother you. The Commander…they want him dead.”

“And what is it to you if they do?” Ondolemar asked, quite politely for him. “What would you care if I were killed?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“We wouldn’t,” Lydia said coolly. “But Ryndoril would. I know you don’t think much of any of us, but we’re not heartless monsters, you know.”

Ondolemar stared at her for a few moments, unsure what to say to that, before he managed to find his voice.

“Then you have my appreciation,” Ondolemar replied stiffly.

Lydia and Argis both looked rather surprised at the words.

“Right,” Ryndoril said, feeling a little overwhelmed at all that was going on. “Well, listen. We’ve been gone a while, and we’re both really tired.”

“I can see that,” Lydia nodded to Ryndoril. “Head upstairs, Ryndoril. We’ll bring you something to eat, alright?”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said gratefully. “I - really. I appreciate everything, both of you. Thanks so much.”

Lydia gave him a friendly smile before turning away to prepare something to eat, and Ryndoril and Ondolemar headed up the stairs to the bedroom.

“Well, that complicates things,” Ryndoril sighed as they shut the door to the main bedroom. “How are we going to travel if you’re supposed to be killed on sight?”

“It isn’t exactly new,” Ondolemar reminded him. “It’s not as though they were likely to let me live before, given half a chance. You saw how the guards in Windhelm acted.”

“Yeah, but this just seems….different,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “Not pleasant, in any case.”

“No,” Ondolemar agreed. “But it will be fine. Are you feeling alright?” he added. The Bosmer was looking worn.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said with a small smile. “Just exhausted. I feel like sleeping for about a year.”

“Me, too,” Ondolemar agreed with a small chuckle.

Ondolemar went to the dresser and pulled open the top drawer, hoping to find something in there that he could change into after washing up, and got a surprise.

“Ryn,” he said wonderingly, causing the Bosmer to come look in the drawer too.

It was filled with all the possessions Ondolemar had brought from the Keep, wishing to store them at Vlindrel Hall. Folded neatly on top of it all were his Thalmor robes. 

“They…they brought all my things as well,” he murmured, running his fingers gently over the familiar leather robes.

“You thought they wouldn’t have?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head. “Like Lydia said, they’re not monsters, you know.”

“Perhaps,” Ondolemar mused quietly. “But I did not expect…this. To bother themselves with an additional burden, for one they dislike so much…”

“Maybe they’re better people than you like to think?” Ryndoril suggested with a smirk.

All he got from Ondolemar was a “hmph” before the Altmer pulled out fresh clothing and began to wash up. He wouldn’t expect anything else, really.

***** 

The elves rested at Breezehome for a few days before setting back out on the next part of their journey. The search for the Elder Scroll had been long and difficult, leaving them both drained.

Ondolemar in particular was hesitant to continue. Their next destination was the Throat of the World, and Ryndoril was meant to go there to read the Elder Scroll. Ondolemar wasn’t in any rush for the Bosmer to perform such a task, knowing what it might do to him.

Eventually, though, they had to move on; Alduin wasn’t getting any weaker while they waited, and the more time that passed, the more dragons he’d be able to resurrect.

They were heading along the road toward Riften, well outside of Whiterun, when they were stopped by an Argonian in black leathers. Ryndoril hadn’t had many pleasant interactions with Argonians, so he was cautious as they approached.

“Alright, hand over your valuables, or I’ll gut you like a fish,” the Argonian snarled menacingly, brandishing twin daggers.

Ryndoril snorted, highly amused, and glanced sideways at Ondolemar; the Altmer was utterly nonplussed at the Argonian’s nerve.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head. “Stand aside, Argonian; I don’t have time for this.”

“Then perhaps you have time to die!” the Argonian shouted.

Before Ryndoril could do anything else, the Argonian was running at them with his daggers at the ready. Ryndoril had time to ready his bow, but the Argonian’s dagger hit his arm before he could get a shot off. He cried out as the knife sliced his flesh, but the Argonian didn’t get any farther than that before he was on the ground with an ice spike through his chest.

“Filth,” Ondolemar sneered at the corpse before turning to Ryndoril. “What an idiot.”

“No kidding,” Ryndoril muttered through gritted teeth, rifling through his pack for a healing potion. Before he could find one, Ondolemar’s hand was on his arm, healing the wound. He looked up at the Altmer with a grateful smile. “Thanks, love.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar replied smoothly. “Are you alright to keep going? It wasn’t poisoned, was it?”

“Not that I can tell,” Ryndoril shrugged. If it had been, it wasn’t very strong.

He knelt beside the Argonian, going through his belongings for anything useful, but it seemed he carried little besides his daggers.

“How stupid do you have to be to attack a couple of fully-armored travelers along the road? Especially when you’re alone?” Ryndoril asked in disbelief.

“I know,” Ondolemar agreed as they set off again. “I thought he might’ve been joking for a moment.”

Ryndoril sighed, giving a last glance back at the Argonian on the ground.

“I feel a little guilty, killing him and leaving him,” Ryndoril admitted.

“What else do you suggest we do?” Ondolemar asked. “I wasn’t about to let him attack you, Ryn. Idiotic filth like that isn’t worth your pity.”

Ryndoril shrugged, not feeling like arguing the point. He wasn’t surprised at Ondolemar’s attitude, but he didn’t exactly agree. Either way, the Altmer was right that there wasn’t anything else for them to do, so they moved on.

A long while later, they were passing some of the hot springs that dotted the border between Eastmarch and the Rift. Knowing they had plenty of time, Ryndoril turned to grin at Ondolemar.

“Want to stop for a bit?”

“Why?” Ondolemar asked, confused. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” Ryndoril laughed, pointing to one of the pools of heated water. “The hot springs. It’s been a long time since we had a nice relaxing soak.”

“You…you mean to get into the things?” Ondolemar asked, shocked. “You’re joking.”

“Lots of people do it,” Ryndoril shrugged. “It’s like a natural hot bath. Most people don’t have Dwemer plumbing, after all.”

“But…we’re out in the open,” Ondolemar protested. “Anyone could see us.”

“No one’s paying attention,” Ryndoril chuckled. “No one’s going to care, love. Come on. It’ll be fun.”

He set off toward one of the springs he knew to be relatively shallow, having used it in the past. He grinned as Ondolemar gaped at him, watching the Bosmer undress.

“You have to be kidding,” Ondolemar said. “You’re going to bare yourself completely, here, in the middle of nothing? What if someone passes by? What if we are attacked?”

“I’ve done this dozens of times,” Ryndoril assured the Altmer. “We’ll be fine. I promise. You don’t have to get completely naked, if you don’t want. But your clothes’ll be all wet.”

“You’re mad,” Ondolemar grumbled, though he watched eagerly as Ryndoril continued to strip. However strange he might find the idea, the Bosmer was beautiful to look at, and he certainly wouldn’t pass up a chance for that.

“Come on,” Ryndoril invited, removing the last of his clothing and stepping into the small pool of hot water. “Auri-El, that feels good,” he groaned happily as the water enveloped him.

Ondolemar let out a small whimper of longing at the noise. Anything that made Ryndoril make those sounds couldn’t be a bad idea.

“Oh, to Oblivion with anyone else,” he muttered finally, setting his things down next to Ryndoril’s and undressing, too.

Ryndoril opened his eyes to see Ondolemar getting into the spring with him and smiled.

“See?” he said, moving toward Ondolemar and embracing him. “It’s not so bad.”

“Yes, you’re very wise,” Ondolemar snorted, tilting his head down to kiss Ryndoril.

He had to admit, it was rather nice to relax in the hot water like this – and together, no less. It had been ages since he’d had a proper bath that he could soak in; traveling on the road was a very different thing to luxury in the Keep.

“You know,” Ondolemar mused, “it’s a shame we can’t go back to Markarth. If only for those baths.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril sighed, leaning into Ondolemar. “Maybe the Stormcloaks will lose the city again soon. Surely if they did, we could get rid of those Silver-Bloods. What do you think?”

“I like the way your mind works,” Ondolemar chuckled, stroking Ryndoril’s hair. “I’m not sure they’ll give up such a strategic position so easily, however. They control a large border of Solitude now, after all. They’ll defend it to the last.”

“You seem to have a lot of confidence in them,” Ryndoril remarked in surprise.

“They’re fighting for a cause they believe in strongly, and men who do such things don’t give up before death,” Ondolemar shrugged. “It isn’t as though I’m ignorant to it; I fought many of them in the Great War, remember.”

“True,” Ryndoril agreed. “Well, maybe we’ll just find ourselves another place,” he suggested with a grin. “It’s not like you had any fondness for Markarth.”

“Too true,” Ondolemar snorted. “Perhaps we will. One day. I believe we have enough to worry about for now, however.”

“Yeah, we do,” Ryndoril laughed. “So maybe we take our minds off the rest of it?”

Ondolemar grinned and leaned down, kissing the elf deeply in agreement.

*****

Ivarstead was quiet when they reached the Vilemyr Inn that evening, which suited them both fine. Relaxing in the hot springs and getting a good night’s rest let them set out for High Hrothgar in top form the next morning.

“You think they’ll give you trouble about going to see the dragon again?” Ondolemar asked as they traveled.

“Paarthurnax himself told me to come back,” Ryndoril shrugged. “They’re obviously not going to disobey him, so I doubt they’ll say anything.”

“Am I to wait at the monastery again?” Ondolemar asked, resigned. He didn’t think he’d have much choice, but he didn’t like the idea of leaving Ryndoril to go up there and read the Scroll by himself.

“No,” Ryndoril said, suddenly fierce. “You’re coming with me. I don’t care what they say; they’re not keeping you away this time. You’re not going to hurt Paarthurnax, so they can live with it.”

“Of course not,” Ondolemar replied. “I may not think much of his Elder Scroll idea, but clearly he’s been helpful thus far. And I have to give him credit, as it looks like he was correct about the Scroll after all. At least, its existence.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril nodded. “I still wasn’t really sure it actually existed, right up until we found it. But he was right. Let’s hope he’s right about the Time-Wound, too.”

“And let us hope he hasn’t condemned you to madness,” Ondolemar replied dryly. “I admit I am grateful that I will not have to wait for you without knowing what’s going on,” he added. “I’m anxious enough about all this as it is.”

“Me, too,” Ryndoril confessed with a rueful smile. “And I want you with me. I don’t want to fight them or anything, but I’m not going to back down this time.”

*****

Arngeir was surprised to see Ryndoril; it had been so long since he’d last visited that Arngeir wasn’t sure he’d come back. He didn’t ask many questions, though; Ryndoril wondered if perhaps he simply didn’t want to know.

The old Greybeard assured him that High Hrothgar was open to him as usual, and that he was welcome to the room he usually stayed in. Ryndoril was grateful for that, as it was already evening again and he thought it would be far better to finish the journey to the top of the mountain in the morning.

To Ryndoril’s surprise, Arngeir didn’t put up a fight the next morning, either. Ryndoril told him that Ondolemar was going to accompany him up to see Paarthurnax, leaving no room for argument, but Arngeir merely sighed heavily.

“I supposed as much,” he admitted. “I have spoken to Paarthurnax, and he has said you are to be allowed to do as you please. I’m warning you, though, Dragonborn,” he added severely, “if your companion harms Paarthurnax in any way – “

“He won’t,” Ryndoril interrupted firmly. “You have my word, no harm will come to Paarthurnax as long as I can prevent it. I _like_ him,” he added. “I’m not going to put him in danger.”

“If you say so,” Arngeir replied, unconvinced. “In any case, you must do what you feel is necessary, Dragonborn.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said politely, barely containing his excitement as he grinned at Ondolemar. “We’ll be back by this evening. I hope.”

With that, the two elves set off for the Throat of the World. Ryndoril was excited to see Paarthurnax again; how often did one get to converse with a dragon, after all? 

Ondolemar was rather more hesitant. He was intrigued by the idea of meeting a dragon, but most of his worry was around Ryndoril reading the Elder Scroll. He supposed, however, he’d just have to take it as it came. There was nothing for it now.

*****

“ _Drem yol lok_ ,” Paarthurnax greeted the pair as they approached him. Ondolemar was staring up at him on his wall, mouth hanging open in awe. “You have returned, Dovahkiin. Have you found the _Kel_ – the Elder Scroll?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril nodded, pulling it off his back. “It took some doing, but…we got it.”

“Your _fahdon_ …your friend…has helped you,” the dragon acknowledged, turning his gaze on Ondolemar. “Good. Now, Dovahkiin. Fulfill your destiny. Take the Scroll to the Time-Wound.” 

Ryndoril hesitated for a minute, looking doubtfully at the Scroll.

“You don’t think it’s going to…kill me?” he asked Paarthurnax. “I mean…there are lots of rumors about how this thing affects people.”

“Hmm, yes,” Paarthurnax agreed. “But you are more than mortal. You have _Dovah Sos_ – dragon blood.”

“And _this_ will be enough to keep him from going mad, or dying?” Ondolemar said, speaking for the first time and sounding indignant. 

Ryndoril couldn’t help smiling a little at that – fascinated (or intimidated) as he was by the great dragon, it seemed defense of Ryndoril would always get him to speak up.

“Why shouldn’t it?” Paarthurnax asked. “The Dovahkiin is prophesied to defeat the World-Eater. He can succeed.”

“It’ll be okay,” Ryndoril said, looking at Ondolemar and trying not to show his anxiety. “I’ll be fine.”

Ondolemar managed to take his eyes off the dragon and look at Ryndoril.

“Just…be careful,” he said. 

Ryndoril gave him a reassuring smile and walked over to a patch of snow that seemed the same as any other on first glance. Upon looking more closely, though, Ondolemar could see that the air shimmered strangely around it, and Ryndoril began to shimmer strangely, too.

Ondolemar watched, forcing himself to stay back and not rush at Ryndoril to pull the Scroll from his hands. The Bosmer unfurled the Scroll, gave a short yell as he was knocked backward, and then, suddenly, he was nowhere.

“Ryn!” Ondolemar yelped, running for the spot he’d been standing on. Had the thing taken him? This wasn’t something he’d considered! “Where is he?” Ondolemar demanded, turning to Paarthurnax. “What has happened?”

“ _Drem_ ,” Paarthurnax said, his slow voice irritating Ondolemar. “Patience, _joor_. Time does what it will.”

“Are you telling me he’s lost in time now?” Ondolemar snapped, glaring at Paarthurnax. “How could you let him do this? What – “

“I think he will return,” Paarthurnax interrupted. “The Scroll’s purpose was to send him back through time, allow him to learn the Thu’um that was used when time was torn. It will send him back. Patience.” 

Ondolemar crossed his arms, aware that he was being petulant, and glared at Paarthurnax. He had to admit the dragon had a point, though he didn’t like it very much at all. There wasn’t anything to do at the moment, though, besides wait to see what happened – so Ondolemar resigned himself to waiting, overwhelmed with anxiety.

He stood on the mountaintop for what felt like an eternity, alternating between pacing back and forth and staring at the spot where Ryndoril had vanished. He was torn between anger and worry. 

What if Ryndoril didn’t come back? What if he couldn’t come back? What if it had killed him? What if he did come back, but was harmed? Blind? Mad? What if he learned nothing, and was back to where he’d started? The Altmer was driving himself crazy with ‘what ifs’, but he didn’t know what else to do. The dragon seemed perfectly content to wait in silence, and in any case, Ondolemar didn’t know what he’d say to a dragon.

Finally, when Ondolemar was sure he was going to scream in frustration, a flicker from the corner of his eye caught his attention. He whipped his head around just in time to see the air flicker again before Ryndoril appeared, almost glowing for the smallest second, and then fell to the ground.

“Ryn!” Ondolemar was at his side within moments, kneeling next to him, his heart in his throat. “Ryndoril, you came back! Are you hurt? Are you alright?”

“Fine,” Ryndoril said wearily, blinking around at his surroundings. “I’m fine, love.” 

Without waiting for anything more, Ondolemar pulled Ryndoril to him in a tight hug.

“Thank Auri-El,” he murmured. He felt Ryndoril give him a half-hearted squeeze in return. “What happened? Where did you go? Did you learn anything?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said, sounding on the verge of sleep. Ondolemar pulled back to look at him and saw the Bosmer looked exhausted. “I went back, Ondolemar. I saw…I saw what happened. With the Tongues. They Shouted him out of the sky. But they couldn’t – “

“Alduin approaches!” Paarthurnax interrupted, sounding slightly worried. “Of course, he could not miss the signs. Dovahkiin, prepare to fight!”

“Damn,” Ryndoril groaned, pushing himself to his feet. Ondolemar was shocked.

“You’re going to fight him _now_?” he asked incredulously. “Like this? Ryndoril, you’re in no shape to –“

“If he’s coming, I have to,” Ryndoril said determinedly, digging for a stamina potion. He hoped it would be enough to get him through the fight; it seemed traveling through time had taken a lot out of him. “I have no choice!”

“Dammit!” Ondolemar cursed, yanking Ryndoril’s satchel from him to find the potion more quickly. “Ready your bow,” he snapped, pulling out the potion and uncorking it. He handed it to Ryndoril, who downed it swiftly. “You better not get yourself killed,” Ondolemar warned. 

Ryndoril gave him a faint smile.

“I’ll do my best,” he promised. “You, too.”

“My belly is full of the souls of your fellow mortals, Dovahkiin,” Alduin’s voice boomed. 

Ryndoril looked around frantically, trying to find the dragon.

“You are too late, Alduin!” Paarthurnax roared, taking flight with a great flap of his wings. 

Following his gaze, Ryndoril saw Alduin and aimed.

“Die now, and await your fate – ahhh!” Alduin interrupted himself as an arrow pierced his neck. “Die, mortals!” 

With a great breath, Ryndoril found himself and Ondolemar covered with a great jet of frost. To his astonishment, the frost didn’t touch them. He glanced around and saw Ondolemar focusing hard on producing a ward to cover them both.

“I hope you know how to kill him!” Ondolemar shouted before his ward fell, leaving only a very cold breeze to blow over the pair of them. He shot a spell at Alduin while Ryndoril reloaded his bow; there was no time to answer. He’d just have to do his best.

“Dovahkiin! Use Dragonrend, if you know it!” Paarthurnax called.

Ryndoril felt as though his head was underwater. Everything seemed slightly fuzzy, and it was difficult for him to focus. He realized the others were fighting for him – Ondolemar with his magic, and Paarthurnax with Shouts of his own. As he watched Paarthurnax breathe a blast of pure energy toward Alduin, the dragon inside of him roared to life, giving him strength and telling him what to do instinctively.

“ _Joor…zah frul!_ ” Ryndoril Shouted, aiming toward Alduin. 

The massive black dragon cried out in fury as he came crashing down to the mountain a few moments later, his wings seemingly bound by threads of energy. 

“You dare use those words on me again, mortal?” Alduin cried in outrage. “My teeth to your neck!” 

He let out a breath of fire this time, and Ryndoril yelled in pain as he felt it burn. He didn’t know where Ondolemar was, but he didn’t have time to figure it out. The dragon was in front of him, bound to the earth, and he fired off arrow after arrow in an attempt to kill him. The Shout alone would not do it.

Alduin continued to Shout fire and ice at them all, but Ryndoril could tell the dragon was wearing down. His arrows generally hit their mark when he could fire them, but dodging Alduin’s Shouts was making it hard to shoot, and the ones that did hit were likely to bounce off Alduin’s tough scales. Ryndoril could see Ondolemar’s magic when the mer could use it, as well as Paarthurnax’s own Shouts, but Alduin fought on.

Eventually, it seemed the strength of Dragonrend wore off; Alduin took to the sky again with a triumphant cry. Ryndoril wasn’t sure how much more of this he could take; Shouting seemed to weaken him further, and _nothing_ seemed to be weakening Alduin. Calling up the dragon’s energy, Ryndoril Shouted Dragonrend once more; this time, however, Paarthurnax and Alduin were too close together, and the Shout hit them both.

Ryndoril didn’t have time to feel guilty over hitting Paarthurnax; he only hoped the old dragon would forgive him later. Aiming carefully, he fired off another few shots at Alduin before dodging another jet of frost. He still saw Ondolemar’s spells hitting the dragon, even if he didn’t see Ondolemar himself; that was reassuring.

After several more shots, Alduin let out another roar of fury before taking to the sky again. Ryndoril was running out of arrows, but he tried still to hit the dragon.

“I am _Al-du-in_! Firstborn of Akatosh!” Alduin cried, hovering in the sky. “I cannot be slain here, by you or anyone else! You cannot prevail against me! I will outlast you, mortal!” 

With a final roar, he flew away, too fast for anyone to do anything more. Ryndoril stumbled backward slightly in his fatigue, sure he must be dreaming. Why would Alduin have left? They hadn’t won!

“Dammit!” Ondolemar cried, and Ryndoril saw him running over then. “He got away!”

“Alduin was greatly weakened,” Paarthurnax said, sounding tired himself. “You truly have the voice of a Dovah. Alduin’s allies will think twice after this victory.”

“Victory?” Ondolemar demanded, enraged as he caught Ryndoril’s stumbling form. Ryndoril could barely make sense of what was going on by now. “This was no victory! He escaped!” 

Ryndoril let himself be guided by Ondolemar’s arms as he sat in the snow, trying to pull himself together and form a coherent thought. Ondolemar rifled through the pack for another stamina potion, angrily handing it to Ryndoril.

“True, this is not the final _krongah_ – victory. But not even the heroes of old were able to defeat Alduin in open battle.”

“Then this was all for nothing,” Ryndoril muttered, regaining a little of his strength and looking around at Paarthurnax. “I can’t defeat him. Dragonrend – it just brings him down from the sky.”

“Yes,” Paarthurnax agreed, sounding disgruntled. “I’d noticed.”

“Sorry,” Ryndoril apologized. “I didn’t mean to hit you. Are you alright?”

“I think so, yes,” Paarthurnax replied. “Or, I will recover. I know it was not intentional, Dovahkiin.”

“Then what are you supposed to do?” Ondolemar demanded, squeezing Ryndoril’s arm but glaring up at Paarthurnax as the white dragon settled on his wall again, the Shout’s effects wearing off. “The Shout doesn’t kill him. You can’t use the Scroll; that obviously didn’t fix the problem before. You can’t kill him in the open. What does that leave?” As he talked, he was searching for a healing potion for Ryndoril, finally finding one to hand over.

“I need to find out where he went,” Ryndoril said, gratefully accepting the healing potion. The pain from the burns immediately lessened. “If he’s weakened…I need to know where to attack him.”

“Yes,” Paarthurnax agreed. “That is the next step. One of his allies could tell us,” he added. “But it will not be so easy to convince one of them to betray him.”

“How am I supposed to ask one?” Ryndoril wanted to know. “Wander around until I find another dragon, and hope it doesn’t kill me?”

“Perhaps the _hofkahsejun_ – the palace in Whiterun. Dragonsreach. It was originally built to house a captive Dovah,” Paarthurnax mused.

“Yeah, the Jarl of Whiterun will be thrilled,” Ryndoril muttered. “But how am I supposed to trap a dragon? How do I even find a dragon to trap, let alone get it there?”

“I have tasted the voices of Alduin’s allies on the wind,” Paarthurnax replied. “There is one who I remember well. Odahviing. He is the one to tell us where Alduin has gone.”

“That doesn’t tell me how to find him, or get him to Dragonsreach,” Ryndoril reminded him.

“Ah, I forget how little you know of the dov,” Paarthurnax said, irritating Ryndoril slightly. “Our names are always made up of three _Rotmulaag_ – Words of Power. You see – _Paar-thur-nax_ – a _Thu’um_ – a Shout – yes?”

“I see,” Ryndoril said. “So I just…call his name. But why would he respond to me? He has no reason to care if I Shout his name.”

“The dov are prideful by nature,” Paarthurnax explained. “Few could resist such a challenge. Especially from you, Dovahkiin. But Odahviing, he is - headstrong? Rash. Even among the dov, he was known for this. He will not resist the challenge of your voice, Dovahkiin. He will come.”

“Well, I guess I don’t have a better plan,” Ryndoril sighed, still exhausted despite the help of the potions. He glanced at Ondolemar to see the Altmer looking at him like he’d lost his mind. “So…do I just yell his name? Do I need to learn it like a Shout?”

“I shall grant you the knowledge of the ability to call him,” Paarthurnax said. “Hear his name. Odahviing. Taste it on the wind, _Od-ah-viing_. Know it in your _su’um_. _Od-ah-viing_!” 

At that, Ryndoril felt the powerful wind sweep through him, the same as when he learned any other Shout, and all at once, it made sense to him. He knew how to call Odahviing. And with that came the certainty that this would work. Odahviing would, in fact, come.

“Right,” Ryndoril said, feeling somewhat renewed by this surge of confidence. “Now all I have to do…is…convince the Jarl to let me use Dragonsreach.”

“Simple,” Ondolemar snorted in sarcasm, and Ryndoril gave a short laugh.

“Well, I’ll just have to try.” He sighed tiredly. “I think we ought to head back down to High Hrothgar. I’m exhausted…and I could do with a bit more healing on these burns,” he added ruefully.

“Of course,” Ondolemar nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Thank you, Paarthurnax,” Ryndoril said, looking back at the old dragon. “Thank you so much…for everything.”

“ _Su’um ahrk morah_ ,” Paarthurnax replied in farewell. 

Ryndoril and Ondolemar started back down the mountain then, Ryndoril needing a bit of support as they traveled; going through time did not seem to agree with him.

“Are you alright?” Ondolemar asked worriedly as they went along. “That was…quite a fight.

“I’m okay,” Ryndoril assured him. “Just…a bit of healing and some rest would be very welcome right now.”

“I’ll do everything I can,” Ondolemar promised. “I’m sorry things didn’t go so well.”

“You’ve nothing to apologize for,” Ryndoril said, squeezing Ondolemar gently. “You were _amazing_ , love. Completely amazing. I couldn’t have done that without you.” 

Ondolemar, despite his worry for the Bosmer, looked rather pleased.

“I did my best,” he said. 

They were quiet the rest of the way to the monastery, focusing on not falling off the slippery mountainside. The Greybeards weren’t around while they made their way to their room, both tired and ready to rest.

“Any idea how you’re going to get the Jarl to go along with this?” Ondolemar asked as they were settling in for bed.

“No,” Ryndoril sighed. “I guess…I’ll just have to hope being Dragonborn will have enough pull for it. I’m his Thane, after all.”

“Yes, but it isn’t as though it’s a simple matter of trapping a dragon in his Keep,” Ondolemar said. “Whiterun is delicately placed; it’s central territory, wanted by both sides in this war. To allow you to trap this dragon in his Keep will mean making his entire hold vulnerable to attack.” 

Ryndoril frowned; he hadn’t thought of that.

“Aren’t the dragons more important right now?” he said skeptically. “If they burn everything down, there won’t really be a Skyrim to fight over.”

“Yes, but Nord or not, he’s a leader in charge of his people,” Ondolemar said. “He can’t leave them defenseless for a task such as this, and he knows just how defenseless he’d be.”

“How do _you_ know all this?” Ryndoril asked, getting into bed. “Have you been chatting with him or something?” 

Ondolemar wrinkled his nose in distaste.

“Hardly,” he sneered. “I fought in a war, Ryn, remember? I’m a Commander. I know war. I know strategy. I may not use it often anymore, but it’s obvious to anyone with experience.”

“Then what do you think the _obvious_ solution is, O Great Commander?” Ryndoril asked with a grin. 

Ondolemar rolled his eyes.

“I do not appreciate you mocking me, you know,” he said, pushing Ryndoril lightly on the arm. 

“You know I’m only teasing, love,” Ryndoril assured him. “But if you do know what to do next…I’d love to hear it.”

“Well, if it were me,” he said slowly, thinking as he joined Ryndoril in bed, “I’d want an agreement that I wouldn’t be attacked. That my land would remain safe while this was dealt with.”

“Right,” Ryndoril snorted. “So I’ll just get Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius to say they won’t make a move, so I can catch a dragon. That’ll work.”

“It would be difficult,” Ondolemar admitted. “But it’s the only feasible option I see. Why not suggest a peace conference? On neutral territory. Both could agree, in front of witnesses, to cease their attacks. The Jarl of Whiterun could be present to witness it, too – which I’m sure would make him feel safer about his hold.”

“Where could I possibly get them to both meet?” Ryndoril asked, shaking his head. “Nowhere is neutral anymore. One of them is in control practically everywhere…and I may not be military, but even I would know better than to agree to any kind of conference behind enemy lines.” 

Ondolemar was quiet as he thought for a few minutes.

“What about here?” he finally suggested.

“ _Here_?” Ryndoril asked incredulously. “You mean High Hrothgar?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar replied. “It’s as neutral as can be – neither controls the Greybeards, after all. And there are four men assembled here whose life’s work enables them to Shout any of those soldiers to pieces, should they try anything. If anyone’s presence were to be respected, it’d be the Greybeards, I’m sure. Even Elenwen, for all her bloodthirst, wouldn’t have been foolish enough to do anything around these powerful men. Nords or otherwise…Shouts are a force to be reckoned with.”

Ryndoril was quiet as he thought about that. Ondolemar had a real point, and Ryndoril did have to concede that the Altmer likely knew what he was talking about quite well, from military experience.

“Yeah…I guess that makes sense,” Ryndoril finally replied. “I can ask them about it tomorrow, at least. See if they’ll even consider it.”

“Yes, tomorrow,” Ondolemar said, pulling Ryndoril close and kissing his head. “For now...rest, my love. You’ve done enough for today; everything else can wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That bit with the Argonian at the beginning? Yep, straight out of my playthrough when these guys headed out of Whiterun. Was too ridiculous not to include it!


	8. Chapter 8

“I need your help to stop the war.”

Ryndoril knew it was going to be a long shot, trying to convince the Greybeards to help even in this small way. But he had to try.

“You misunderstand our authority,” Arngeir said in surprise. “The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs.”

“I know,” Ryndoril replied, annoyed. He knew that all too well by this point. “But I need to get a truce between Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius.”

“You ask a lot, Dragonborn,” Arngeir said. “What purpose does this serve? What do you hope to accomplish? You think these factions will cease their war for you?”

“No, but for the dragons, I hope they will,” Ryndoril sighed. “Paarthurnax told me I need to capture a dragon – one of Alduin’s allies. To do that, I need Dragonsreach – and there’s no way Jarl Balgruuf will let me have it with the war on his doorstep.”

“I see,” Arngeir frowned. “So if you get them to agree to a truce, you will be able to continue your pursuit of Alduin.”

“Both sides respect the Greybeards,” Ryndoril pointed out. “They’ll listen. But I can’t do this anywhere else.”

Arngeir considered for a moment before letting out a heavy sigh.

“Paarthurnax has made the decision to help you,” he replied, still unhappy about it. “This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change, it seems. So be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak with them. We will see if they remember us.”

“Really?” Ryndoril said, shocked there wasn’t more of a fight over it. He had expected to have to wear Arngeir down, if he even could have. “You mean it?”

“Yes,” Arngeir said, shaking his head. “We must do as Paarthurnax wishes us to do. Deliver the message to the warring parties. If they will listen…I will do what I can to bring them to terms.”

Ryndoril felt a strong surge of relief wash over him. There was still a very difficult road ahead, of course, but this was a much easier first step than he’d expected.

“Thank you, Arngeir,” Ryndoril said sincerely. “Thank you very much. I’ll be back soon, then.”

Arngeir didn’t say anything, just watched as Ryndoril hurried off to tell Ondolemar the good news.

“Good news?” Ondolemar snorted. “You have to convince Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius to gather for a meeting, and you consider that good news? Not to mention convincing Jarl Balgruuf to go along with this in the first place.”

“Well, fine,” Ryndoril laughed, feeling oddly light. “Better news than it could’ve been. Happy?” 

Ondolemar shook his head at the Bosmer.

“You’re mad, you know,” he said as they got ready to leave. “This is too crazy to work, even for you.”

“You’re the one who suggested it,” Ryndoril reminded him.

“I suppose I did,” Ondolemar replied. “That doesn’t mean I think it’s going to work.”

“You know I have more charm than most,” Ryndoril grinned. “It may work yet.” 

Ondolemar had to let out a small chuckle at that. The Bosmer had a point.

*****

As expected, Jarl Balgruuf proved difficult to convince. He understood well enough the need for the use of his Keep, but he was every bit as worried as Ondolemar had thought he’d be. Upon hearing Ryndoril’s plan, however, he did concede that he’d attend the peace conference and see what happened. He was very skeptical of Ryndoril’s ability to call a truce between the warring factions, but agreed to help him if he could.

It wasn’t any easier to convince either Ulfric Stormcloak or General Tullius to listen to Ryndoril. He had Ondolemar stay away while he talked to each of them, knowing neither man would want to discuss anything with the Thalmor Commander around. 

After their previous encounter in Windhelm, they had decided it better for Ondolemar to stay out of the city altogether, and he waited for Ryndoril in Kynesgrove instead. Although Ondolemar didn’t think much of letting Ryndoril go into the Palace of the Kings by himself, he knew they were better safe than sorry when dealing with the Stormcloak city.

Finally, after long negotiations with both men, Ryndoril convinced them to meet for the peace conference at High Hrothgar. As exhausting as it had been to get them to even listen to him in the first place, he really wasn’t looking forward to the conference.

Ryndoril and Ondolemar headed up to the monastery on their own, not wanting to run into either delegation on the way. Ryndoril hoped the meeting would go quickly, and more smoothly than he expected. He hoped they’d keep in mind the dragon threat, and understand that it would benefit everyone if they came to terms quickly. 

Ondolemar didn’t have much faith in that idea…and neither did Ryndoril, truth be told.

*****

“Gods, I hope this goes well,” Ryndoril sighed, sitting in his room at High Hrothgar with Ondolemar.

Ulfric Stormcloak, General Tullius, Jarl Balgruuf, and their delegations had all made it to the monastery, as promised, and the meeting was due to start soon. Ryndoril was _not_ looking forward to it.

“It’s going to be ridiculous,” Ondolemar replied, shaking his head. “You know that. They’re going to bicker like children. But if they can manage to agree to stop this stupid fighting for a little while, you’ll be able to proceed. This, at least, will be over soon.”

“Yeah, then I just have to trap a dragon,” Ryndoril laughed tensely.

“You’ll be fine,” Ondolemar reassured him, squeezing his shoulder. “And I’ll be there.”

Ryndoril had asked Ondolemar to come to the meeting with him; he had no real stake in it, but Ryndoril needed the support. Ondolemar had easily agreed.

Ryndoril was just about to suggest they head to the conference room and see if the others were ready to start when the sound of a loud argument reached his ears. Frowning with concern, he hurried out into the main hall with Ondolemar right on his heels.

“We have as much right to be here as everyone else!” a woman’s voice said hotly. “More, actually, since we were the ones who put the Dragonborn on this path!”

Ryndoril rounded the corner and his jaw dropped open.

“Delphine?” he asked, astounded.

He hadn’t seen her or Esbern since the night he’d been captured by the Justiciars; he assumed they were long gone, had maybe even left Skyrim. But here they both were, right in front of him, accompanied by a smaller person in a hood he couldn’t identify.

“Dragonborn, good, you’re already here,” Delphine said, looking pleased as she turned to see him there. She showed no sign of surprise or even relief upon spotting him. “Will you put this to rest and let us in?”

“What are you doing here?” Ryndoril demanded, anger rising within him as the shock subsided. “How did you even know about this meeting?”

He’d already thought her callous before, regarding his life and safety with such little concern as she did. The fact that she hadn’t even tried to find him or cared at all what happened to him after his capture had only increased his dislike of her.

“Getting the opposing leaders of a war to agree to a peace conference? It’s not exactly a secret,” Delphine pointed out. “I’m glad you’ve made progress, Dragonborn.”

“You left me to them,” Ryndoril accused, glaring at her. “I was captured right outside Sky Haven Temple. I know you knew about it, because they looked for you! You ran! You ran and left me to _die_!”

Delphine frowned at him, obviously having expected a better reaction from him. 

“What good would have come of us being captured along with you?” she asked bluntly. “Needless to say, you didn’t die. You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think?”

“Are you here on _their_ orders?” the hooded man asked, an angry sneer in his voice. Ryndoril thought he sounded familiar, somehow, but he couldn’t figure out why. “Are you under his control or something?”

“What?” Ryndoril asked, bewildered as he glanced back at Ondolemar. He wasn’t surprised to see hatred etched into the Altmer’s features, all directed at Delphine. “Of course I’m not – he’s my traveling companion.”

“He’s the Thalmor Commander,” the voice sneered.

“How do you know this?” Ondolemar demanded, eyes narrowed in suspicion. It seemed highly unlikely that anyone should recognize him as the Commander without his robes, or even the Elven armor he’d replaced them with for traveling.

“Not exactly a secret who you are,” the figure replied coolly, shrugging.

“What are you doing with a Thalmor?” Delphine interrupted harshly, glaring at Ryndoril. “Are you working for them?”

“No!” Ryndoril snapped. How _dare_ she judge him! “The Commander is working for _me_ , thank you very much. _He_ saved my life. _He_ killed Elenwen. And _he_ has been helping me every step of the way since then!”

“Ha!” Delphine snorted derisively. “ _Helping_ you. Right into the Thalmor’s waiting arms! What interest would the _Thalmor_ have in helping the Dragonborn?”

“Obviously more than the Blades do!” Ondolemar exclaimed in contempt. “I should kill you where you stand! You _betrayed_ him – “

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril interrupted, turning to him with wide eyes. As angry as he was himself, he knew it was a bad idea to start trouble here. “You can’t. Not here!”

“I know that,” Ondolemar snapped, still glaring at the Blades. “That doesn’t mean I _shouldn’t_. But for your sake, Ryndoril – and your sake _alone_ – I shall not.”

“No one will be killing anyone in this hall,” Arngeir interrupted, his voice firm as he spoke for the first time since they’d started arguing. “I believe the purpose of this meeting was a peace conference, was it not? This argument will get us nowhere.” 

Ryndoril rolled his eyes; Arngeir was right, but this was hardly a trivial thing – at least to him.

“Fine,” Ryndoril responded bitterly. “You’re right. We need to get on with this conference. Ondolemar, come on,” he added, nodding to the Altmer.

“Let’s go,” Delphine agreed, making to follow them. 

“ _You_ have no reason to be here,” Ryndoril said with a cold glare. “I don’t know why you bothered to come.”

“We know a great deal about the situation and the threat that Alduin poses to us all,” Esbern spoke up, his voice hard. “You need us here if you want this council to succeed.”

“That has nothing to do with anything,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “This council is about the war, not about Alduin!” 

Arngeir sighed impatiently.

“Dragonborn, in the interest of getting this council started, perhaps they should remain,” Arngeir said, shaking his head. “Is it worth arguing over?” 

Ryndoril conceded that Arngeir made sense, even if he didn’t like it.

“Fine,” he snapped. “Let’s get started, then.” 

Ryndoril walked off toward the meeting room without looking back; he was sure Ondolemar would follow him, and more importantly would keep his word about not killing anyone – not that Ryndoril would mind much, at this point.

Just before they reached the conference room, Ryndoril felt a hand on his shoulder; he turned to see Ondolemar giving him a small but reassuring smile. He smiled back; he appreciated the gesture. He knew it had to be difficult for Ondolemar to be dealing with this in his own way – under the same roof as Ulfric Stormcloak, and now the Blades, yet unable to do anything to any of them.

Ryndoril took one of the remaining seats around the long table, Ondolemar sitting beside him; the others were grouped in low conversations, on opposite sides of the room from one another. The tension was palpable.

Delphine and Esbern entered the room, followed very shortly by Arngeir, who cleared his throat and called the meeting to order.

“Now that everyone is here, please take your seats so we can begin.” 

At his words, the others began to gather around the table, pulling out chairs and taking seats. Ryndoril saw Ulfric Stormcloak looking around, and his eyes landed on Ondolemar as his mouth parted. “I hope that we have all come here in the spirit of – “

“No!” Ulfric shouted, interrupting Arngeir. “You insult us by bringing a Thalmor agent to this negotiation? The very _Commander_ of the Thalmor?” he demanded, glaring across the table at General Tullius. Ryndoril once again wondered at how anyone knew this, but he supposed Ulfric of all people would have made it a point to know the important Thalmor in Skyrim.

“That didn’t take long,” Legate Rikke muttered beside General Tullius as the Redguard looked furious.

“You can’t dictate who I bring to this council,” Tullius snapped. “And _I_ didn’t bring him!”

“Everyone at this table is here at _my_ request,” Ryndoril spoke up impatiently, though he glared at Delphine and Esbern. “Can we just – “

“I will not sit at the negotiation table with a Thalmor agent,” Ulfric growled, glaring at Ondolemar.

“I have done nothing to you, Stormcloak,” Ondolemar snapped. “ _You_ are the one who tried to have me arrested for the mere crime of existing in your city – “

“Stop!” Ryndoril cried, frustrated. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, opening them a moment later to look at Ondolemar. He hated to ask the Altmer to leave after requesting he be there to begin with, but this was never going to work.

“Will you please wait outside?” Ryndoril asked Ondolemar quietly, his eyes pleading with the Altmer to understand. “I need everyone to – “

“You’ve got to be joking,” Ulfric boomed, interrupting. “You’re _working_ for the Thalmor, Dragonborn? You misled me!”

“I didn’t realize we were walking into a negotiation so heavily favored against us,” Ulfric’s housecarl growled in agreement.

“Nothing’s favored against anyone,” Ryndoril ground out, exasperated but trying to keep it in check. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this stressed. “We’re here because of the dragons. For me to kill Alduin, you all have to negotiate peace for a little while. This isn’t that difficult.”

“That’s rich, coming from the Thalmor sympathizer,” Ulfric snapped.

Ryndoril growled impatiently, but forced himself to keep his temper. He knew he had to focus; this was already miserable, and the longer it went on, the worse it was going to get.

“Please, Ondolemar,” Ryndoril asked of the Altmer beside him. “I can’t – “

“It is not a problem,” Ondolemar replied, his voice cold but his eyes warm and reassuring to the Bosmer. “I shall wait outside for you to finish, Dragonborn.” He stood and left the room, not looking at any of them. Ryndoril immediately felt himself tense up; he hated that Ondolemar wasn’t there with him, but he’d just have to get through it.

“Can we move on now?” Ryndoril asked the room at large. “I want to get this over with.”

“Fine,” Ulfric snapped.

“Fine,” Tullius sneered, just as unhappy.

The whole meeting was nonsense, in Ryndoril’s opinion. Instead of simply agreeing that no one would attack Whiterun or make any moves until the dragons were dealt with, both sides proceeded to argue over land. Ryndoril couldn’t understand why any land needed to exchange hands for there to be peace, but as the bickering parties couldn’t seem to come to an agreement on anything, he ended up being the mediator for most of it. 

Arngeir asked him time and again what his opinion was. He could tell he wasn’t making either party terribly happy, but as they were all being so childishly _stupid_ about it all, he couldn’t do much else. He noticed that Balgruuf looked just as fed up as he was, though he didn’t seem to have much to say. 

Finally, in the middle of a shouting match between Ulfric and Rikke, Esbern spoke up.

“Stop!” he cried. “Are you so blind to our danger that you can’t see past your petty disagreements? Here you sit arguing about…nothing! While the fate of the land hangs in the balance!”

Ryndoril hated to admit it, but he agreed with Esbern on this point. Somehow, this managed to bring about another slight argument between Ulfric and Tullius, before Esbern shouted them both down again. 

Eventually things managed to calm down; neither side seemed very happy about the situation, but they did – grudgingly – manage to come to an agreement.

“Then we are agreed,” Arngeir said wearily, looking at both sides. 

He went over the terms of the treaty, but Ryndoril was barely paying attention; all that mattered was that he’d be able to use Whiterun like he needed. He was exhausted from the day’s arguing and wanted little more than to curl up by a fire with Ondolemar.

The meeting began to break up, much to Ryndoril’s relief; he stood up and made to leave the room as well. Before he got far, however, Delphine caught his shoulder.

“Listen,” she said, her tone businesslike. “We know about Paarthurnax.” 

Ryndoril eyed her, bemused.

“Uh…you know…what?” he asked.

“Paarthurnax,” Delphine said, speaking slowly as though Ryndoril was stupid. “The _dragon_. The one the Greybeards have been protecting all these years.”

“O…kay?” Ryndoril said, wondering why she was telling him this. He already knew – what difference did it make?

“He needs to die,” Delphine said simply. “He deserves to die. And it’s up to you to kill him.” 

Ryndoril stared at her, shocked into silence for a moment.

“You’ve got to be _kidding_ me,” he finally managed, shaking his head. “You aren’t telling me you expect me to _kill_ him.”

“He helped Alduin,” Delphine replied stubbornly, crossing her arms. “Do you want to wait for him to turn on us as well? You have to kill him, Dragonborn.”

“No,” Ryndoril growled, eyes narrowing. “Absolutely not. He’s been more help in the short time I’ve known him than you have all along! He helped me fight Alduin not long ago – he saved my life! You can’t say anything close to the same!”

“He’s still a dragon!” Delphine shouted. “It is your duty, Dragonborn! If you refuse, we would dishonor our oaths as Blades to continue to help you! If you aren’t with us, you’re against us. Choose your side!”

“My side is whichever one you aren’t on, Delphine,” Ryndoril said coldly. “Don’t come near me again. And stay _away_ from Paarthurnax.” He turned on his heel and walked out of the room before Delphine could argue.

He was fuming. He couldn’t believe the woman’s nerve. Never cared about his life to begin with, that much he knew, but then she left him to the mercy of the Thalmor who’d captured him. Only to turn up and act like nothing had happened tonight! And now she wanted him to kill Paarthurnax, who was perhaps the single most helpful being he’d encountered since finding out he was Dragonborn? He was absolutely furious.

As he entered the main hall, he noticed it was almost deserted – the separate legions had, no doubt, been eager to depart. One lone figure stood on the far side of a pillar, leaning against it and seeming bored. 

It was the companion that had accompanied Delphine and Esbern – but now his hood was pulled off. And Ryndoril knew him immediately.

“Malborn?” he choked, his mouth falling open. The other Bosmer’s head whipped around as though ready for a fight, but sneered when he saw only Ryndoril.

“Oh, it’s just the mighty _Dragonborn_ ,” Malborn said, rolling his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” Ryndoril demanded, feeling all his anger coming back to him, flooding out the tiredness. 

The elf standing before him was the reason his parents were killed. Malborn had never liked the Thalmor – he’d never supported the Dominion at all. He’d been one of Ryndoril’s closest neighbors when he was a child, and Ryndoril had looked up to him very much. Until he turned on them. He’d gotten Ryndoril’s whole family killed, and then fled. Ryndoril hadn’t seen the elf since…but that face was one he’d have recognized anywhere.

“Think I was going to stay in Valenwood with the Dominion taking over?” Malborn asked. “I wasn’t that stupid. At least I had a chance, here in Skyrim. Shouldn’t be surprised _you’re_ working with them, though,” he snorted in disgust.

“You _killed_ them!” Ryndoril yelled, rage eclipsing any other thought. “You got them all murdered!”

He had thought he was past the anger; he had thought he was resigned to the terrible fate of his family, sad but at peace. It had been so long ago. But staring into the face of the one responsible…for the first time since they died… 

“And I’d do it again!” Malborn replied angrily. “You all deserved it, you filthy Thalmor-lovers. I’m only sorry the Legion didn’t manage to off you as well!”

He might’ve said more, really; it was hard to tell, as Ryndoril had lunged at him the next moment, flinging himself upon the slightly larger Bosmer and punching every inch of him he could reach. He forgot about Shouting, he forgot about his hidden dagger, he didn’t care about any of it. He just wanted to beat Malborn until there was nothing left of him.

It took a moment, but Malborn started to fight back; Ryndoril felt a hard hit to his eye, but he didn’t care. It wasn’t enough to stop him.

“You’re mad!” Malborn was yelling. Ryndoril could hear a growl of rage, a thoroughly menacing sound, and realized it was coming from himself. It only spurred him on. “You’re insane! You’ve lost your mind! Get off me!” He was trying to hit back, but he wasn’t doing much against Ryndoril’s utter fury.

“You killed my family!” Ryndoril cried, punctuating each word with a hit. “You son of a _bitch_!”

“ _FUS!_ ”

The cry startled Ryndoril and made him fly several feet away from Malborn, sprawling on the floor. He was panting hard, and he realized his eye was swollen as he looked up to figure out what had happened. He barely felt it.

“That’s enough!” Arngeir’s voice boomed through the hall. “This temple is dedicated to peace, Dragonborn, and you will not – 

“HE KILLED MY FAMILY!” Ryndoril screamed, heading for Malborn again. 

To his surprise, it was not Arngeir who stopped him this time, but Ondolemar. The Altmer caught him in the chest, pulling him back and holding onto him.

“Leave it, Ryn,” Ondolemar growled, glaring hatefully at Malborn. “You do not want the trouble this will cause.”

“Maybe I do,” Ryndoril replied angrily.

“You don’t want it right _now_ ,” Ondolemar amended. “If it were worth the trouble, I’d kill him myself for being a traitor,” he added menacingly. “I should’ve known, you filthy sneak.” 

Ryndoril was still trying to catch his breath, but he managed to remember why that was significant.

“Malborn,” he muttered, looking up at Ondolemar. “He’s the one – the one who took off from the Embassy. That’s why I knew the name.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar replied. “Took off, rather than even attempt to help a fellow Bosmer, did he? Pathetic.”

“He didn’t care,” Ryndoril spat. He realized he could taste blood, a little. He wondered if it was his own, but still didn’t care much. “He’s wanted me dead since I was seventeen. And he fled then, too.” 

Ondolemar looked puzzled for a moment before realization dawned on him. He let out a low growl, but didn’t let it go further than that. 

Delphine and Esbern entered the hall then, looking surprised at the scene awaiting them.

“Dragonborn, if you are staying here tonight, I suggest you get into your room and stay there,” Arngeir snapped, sounding rather like an angry parent. “Blades – you are not welcome here, and I suggest you take your companion with you when you leave. There will be no more fighting in this hall!” 

The people in the hall stared at one another in silence for a moment before Ryndoril sighed and looked away from them all.

“Fine,” he muttered.

“Remember what we talked about, Dragonborn,” Delphine warned before motioning to Esbern and Malborn to follow her. They disappeared as the doors closed with a heavy thud.

“Dragonborn,” Arngeir said impatiently, glaring at him; that was all it took to get Ryndoril to head back to his room, Ondolemar at his side.

“What happened?” Ondolemar asked at once when they were safely shut inside, the fire already crackling in welcome. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m _fine_ ,” Ryndoril spat, fury still coursing through him. He didn’t know the last time he’d been this angry. “Pack your things. We’re going to go down the mountain after those filthy Blades, and I’m going to shove Malborn off a rocky slope!”

“Ryndoril, you’re covered in blood,” Ondolemar pointed out, taking the Bosmer’s arm to stop him going for his pack. “You need to relax.”

“Relax?” Ryndoril practically shouted, rounding on Ondolemar. The Altmer was slightly shocked; he’d _never_ seen Ryndoril like this before. “Are you out of your bloody mind? You can’t tell me _you_ don’t want him dead!”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly, squeezing Ryndoril’s shoulder. “They will be dealt with. I can assure you of that. Right now, I’d rather you calm down and let me heal you.”

“I don’t _need_ healing, I’m _fine_ ,” Ryndoril snapped, refusing to acknowledge the taste of blood still strong in his mouth.

Ondolemar gave him a small smile, looking faintly amused.

“Your eye is swollen, your nose is bleeding, and your lip is split open,” he informed the Bosmer. “Sit, Ryn.”

Ryndoril glared at the Altmer for a moment, still too angry to want to listen, before he relaxed a little and sat, allowing Ondolemar to heal him. It was easier to calm down with Ondolemar beside him again.

“I hope I got him worse,” Ryndoril muttered.

“You did,” Ondolemar responded. “Didn’t you see? He looked terrible.” 

Ryndoril realized he hadn’t been paying much attention to Malborn’s state, but felt reassured at hearing that. 

“I’m sorry, by the way,” Ondolemar murmured quietly, moving to heal Ryndoril’s lip. He brushed his thumb soothingly along the Bosmer’s cheek as he paused to look at him.

“For what?” Ryndoril asked, feeling further calmed by Ondolemar’s touch. He should’ve known it would help. “It isn’t your fault.”

“For stopping you,” Ondolemar responded. “I don’t blame you for wanting to kill him. But you know now is not the time…it would only cause more trouble than you need.”

“If I admit you’re right, _then_ can we go down the mountain after him?” Ryndoril asked with a tiny smirk. 

Ondolemar chuckled, kissing the Bosmer’s forehead.

“We’ll rest tonight, my love,” Ondolemar said. “You’ve been through enough lately, and still more to come. I give you my word, Malborn will be taken care of. I’ll write to Nyslian as soon as we get back to Whiterun. And…if I ever meet him again myself, I will not hesitate.” 

Ryndoril let out a breath, still angry but trying to let go of it. It wouldn’t do him any good right now.

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I hate this.”

“I know,” Ondolemar nodded in understanding, healing the elf’s nose. “There. Good as new. Er…almost.”

“I probably could do with cleaning up,” Ryndoril agreed.

“Lie down,” Ondolemar said, brushing the Bosmer’s hair back from his face. “I’ll take care of it.”

“I can clean my own face,” Ryndoril chuckled.

“Yes, but I wish to care for you,” Ondolemar smiled. “Must you deny me?”

“Alright,” Ryndoril laughed. “Thanks, love. For…everything. Always looking out for me.”

“You know I always will,” Ondolemar promised him.


	9. Chapter 9

Lydia and Argis were waiting when Ryndoril and Ondolemar returned to Breezehome, eager to learn about anything new. Ryndoril explained that he was in town to trap a dragon, and their mouths fell open simultaneously.

“It’s been done before,” Ryndoril reminded them with a laugh at their expressions.

“Well…sure,” Lydia said, eyes wide. “But…long before our time. You’re not telling me you’re going to hold a dragon in the Keep like Numinex?”

“No,” Ryndoril chuckled. “I just need some information from it. I’m not going to keep it trapped.”

“Can we help?” Argis asked with interest.

“Uh…well, I’d rather you didn’t,” Ryndoril admitted. “Not that I think you can’t handle it or anything, but…I just want to risk as few people as possible. This is a pretty crazy plan.”

Ondolemar snorted from behind him, but didn’t comment.

“I understand,” Argis said, and Ryndoril could swear he sounded just a little relieved. “Just let us know what happens, will you?”

“This is all so crazy,” Lydia added. “Hearing about it firsthand…”

“Of course,” Ryndoril agreed with a chuckle. “I won’t leave you two out.”

*****

With the peace treaty taken care of, Jarl Balgruuf held to his word, allowing Ryndoril to use the great porch of Dragonsreach to attempt his capture of Odahviing, though he seemed a bit skeptical. 

The Jarl led Ryndoril and Ondolemar out onto the porch, explaining to his guards what was going to happen.

“And stay back,” Ryndoril cautioned them all when Balgruuf was finished speaking to them. “I don’t want anyone to get killed for this. I know what to do – the rest of you try to keep out of his line of fire, alright?” 

No one had any objections to this. With a hesitant smile at Ondolemar, Ryndoril made his way forward, getting right up to the edge of the porch. 

“ _Od…ah viing!”_ he Shouted into the morning sky. Then he waited, his bow at the ready.

“Maybe it hasn’t worked,” a guard said, sounding rather hopeful, after a few silent minutes.

“It’s worked,” Ryndoril said confidently, sure that Paarthurnax’s advice was right. “He’ll come. It just may take a little bit.”

The words were no sooner out of his mouth than a dragon’s roar sounded nearby, loud enough to shake the railing Ryndoril was leaning on. Suddenly alert, he readied his bow and arrow.

“There it is!” one of the guards yelled, sounding terrified. “By Shor…”

“Keep back!” Ryndoril called to them, aiming his arrow and letting it fly. 

It caught Odahviing’s attention, and the dragon rounded on him a moment later. Without hesitating, Ryndoril let loose the Shout he knew would bring the dragon down.

A pained cry erupting from his mouth, Odahviing landed with a shuddering crash on the porch, causing the guards to cry out in terror. Ryndoril was still firing at the dragon, and Ondolemar was doing his best to subdue the beast with magic.

“That’s right, Odahviing,” Ryndoril muttered, backing away toward the trap that waited to fall on the dragon nearer the door. “Come and get me.” 

There were a few cries of pain as Odahviing breathed a jet of fire onto several of the guards, but Ryndoril stayed focused, trying to keep Odahviing’s attention on him with his arrows. It was surprisingly easy to tempt the dragon back toward the doors, and it wasn’t much later that the yolk came crashing down on Odahviing’s neck, keeping him in place.

“ _Horvutah med kodaav_. Caught like a bear in a trap,” Odahviing snarled angrily, glaring at Ryndoril. 

The guards scurried off to the side, unwilling to be near the dragon’s head, but Ryndoril just stared him down. He knew the dragon would listen now. Ondolemar joined him, thankfully seeming to be uninjured.

Odahviing kept talking in the dragon language, but then stopped when Ryndoril was just giving him a blank look.

“Ah, I forget. You do not have the dovah speech,” Odahviing said, sneering slightly. “My eagerness to meet you in battle was my undoing, Dovahkiin. I salute your, hmm, low cunning in devising such a _grahmindol_ – stratagem. _Zu’u bonaar_. You went to a great deal of trouble to put me in this…humiliating position,” he added, unhappy. “ _Hind siiv_ Alduin, hmm? No doubt you want to know where to find Alduin?”

“Exactly,” Ryndoril said, nodding. “Where is he hiding now? I know you know.”

“ _Rinik vazah_. An apt phrase,” Odahviing mused. “Alduin _bovul_. One reason I came to your call was to test your _Thu’um_ for myself. Many of us have begun to question Alduin’s lordship, whether his _Thu’um_ was truly the strongest. Among ourselves, of course,” he amended at Ryndoril’s skeptical look. “ _Mu ni meyye_. None were yet ready to openly defy him.”

“That’s good to know and all,” Ryndoril said, “but I need to know where to find him.”

“ _Unslaad krosis_ ,” Odahviing replied. “Innumerable pardons. I digress. He has traveled to Sovngarde to regain his strength, devouring the _sillesejoor_ … the souls of the mortal dead. A privilege he jealously guards. His door to Sovngarde is at Skuldafn, one of his ancient fanes high in the eastern mountains. _Mindoraan, pah ok middovahhe lahvraan til._ I surely do not need to warn you that all his remaining strength is marshaled there. _Zu’u lost ofan hin laan_ … now that I have answered your question, you will allow me to go free?” 

Ryndoril snorted. Well, the dragon got right to the point, anyway.

“I’m not letting you go until Alduin is defeated,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “I can’t risk it.”

“Ah. Well. Hmm… _krosis_ ,” Odahviing replied. “There is one…detail about Skuldafn I neglected to mention.” 

Ryndoril narrowed his eyes at the dragon. He should’ve known.

“And what might that be?” he asked warily. 

“Only this,” Odahviing said, an air of cunning in his tone. “You have the _Thu’um_ of a dovah, but without the wings of one, you will never set foot in Skuldafn.” 

Ryndoril cursed and heard Ondolemar growl in annoyance beside him.

“Of course,” Odahviing went on, “I could fly you there. But not while imprisoned like this.”

“You expect him to trust you to fly him to this Skuldafn, knowing he’ll defeat Alduin?” Ondolemar snapped. “You’ve lost your mind, dragon. You’d kill him as soon as help him.” 

Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head – Ondolemar was right.

“Why would I trust you?” Ryndoril asked Odahviing. “I’d be crazy to let you fly me there.”

“ _Ahrann_ ,” Odahviing replied. “You wound me, Dovahkiin.” He did sound rather hurt. “I may not tell the whole truth, but I am no liar.” Ondolemar snorted derisively. “Go and see for yourself,” Odahviing suggested. “ _Zu’u ni bo nol het_. I will be here…unless Alduin returns before you do.” 

Ryndoril blew out a breath – he felt like the dragon was taunting him with that last line. He studied Odahviing for a moment.

“I have to think about this,” Ryndoril said firmly. “I’ll be back…shortly.”

“Hmm,” was all Odahviing said, looking resigned. 

Ryndoril felt a little sorry for him; it seemed kind of wrong, having such a powerful creature trapped here like this. But he didn’t exactly have a lot of options. Ryndoril turned to go, Ondolemar following him; he could practically _feel_ the Altmer’s anger, but was relieved he was keeping it in check in front of everyone at the moment.

Just as they were about to go in, Farengar, the Jarl’s court mage, came out the doors to the great porch.

“Incredible,” he muttered, gazing at the dragon behind Ryndoril. “You have no idea how long I have waited for such an opportunity! I would be most appreciative if you would permit me to perform some, ah, tests on you,” Farengar said eagerly as he approached Odahviing. “Purely in the interests of the advancement of knowledge.”

“Begone, mage,” Odahviing said sullenly. “Do not test my promise to the Dovahkiin.” 

Ryndoril was about to speak up as Farengar made to go around the trap to where the dragon couldn’t reach him, but Ondolemar beat him to it.

“Mage!” the Altmer snapped, causing Farengar to pause and turn around. “If you so much as cast a spell _near_ this beast, you will answer to the combined might of the Dragonborn and the Thalmor, do you understand me?” 

Farengar’s eyes widened, and Ryndoril couldn’t help a small smile.

“Leave the dragon alone, Farengar,” Ryndoril said, his tone not quite as authoritative as Ondolemar’s Commander voice. “He’s not a lab experiment for you to play with.”

“I – but I wish to study – “ Farengar stammered, but then his face fell as he looked at the two unyielding elves. “Alright, Dragonborn. I will not bother him.”

“Thank you, Dovahkiin,” Odahviing said, and Ryndoril was sure he could hear a little desperation in his words. 

Ryndoril merely nodded at him before turning to go once more. Just before leaving, he turned to address the guards.

“ _No one_ is to go near him,” he added to all of them. “Not until I return.”

“No problem,” many of them muttered, looking warily at the dragon and not seeming at all inclined to approach him. 

Ryndoril and Ondolemar followed Farengar inside the Keep, leaving him behind as they headed for Breezehome.

“The nerve of him,” Ondolemar snapped as they walked. “I can’t believe it.”

“Well, he’s right,” Ryndoril said fairly. “He didn’t exactly lie to me.”

“Not the _dragon_ ,” Ondolemar said, annoyed. “The court mage.” 

Ryndoril laughed.

“You know, I would’ve thought you’d be all for the pursuit of knowledge,” he said. “Don’t you want to find out more about dragons?”

“That Nord deserves no such opportunity,” Ondolemar replied scathingly. “And in any case, the dragon – Odahviing – is an intelligent creature, one that you’ve captured to get information you require. Not some dull-brained rabbit one has trapped for food. He does not deserve that.” 

“That’s very kind of you, love,” Ryndoril agreed with a grin. He felt the same, but hadn’t really expected Ondolemar to.

“Besides,” Ondolemar went on, “how could I not have respect for the intelligence and soul of such a creature? You’re part dragon, yourself.” 

“Well, true,” Ryndoril laughed.

They reached the house then, opening the door to find Lydia and Argis anxiously waiting to know what had happened. Ryndoril gave them a quick explanation of what had occurred up in the Keep before asking them for a little privacy between him and Ondolemar; he knew the Altmer wouldn’t like having this conversation in front of the Nords, and as much as he trusted Lydia and Argis, he knew this wasn’t something they could be a part of. It was easier to keep it to himself and Ondolemar. They understood and left the house, letting the elves talk alone.

“So. A dragon flying us to an ancient temple,” Ryndoril said with an attempt at a smile. “Crazy.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar sighed, taking a seat by the fire. “An ancient temple of Alduin’s, no less – surely filled with the likes of draugr and such that you find in the Nord tombs here.”

“And probably stronger,” Ryndoril added in, sitting next to Ondolemar. “But I’ve dealt with those tombs before. I can fight draugr. It’s Odahviing getting me up in the air and killing me I’m worried about.”

“I suppose we have no choice,” Ondolemar replied, shaking his head. “He did seem sincere, at least. You heard him – he came when you called because he’s doubting Alduin.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said. “That is true.”

“So we’ll go to this temple,” Ondolemar said decisively. “We’ll allow the dragon to fly us there, and we’ll…” he trailed off, thinking of the next part of the plan.

“Go to Sovngarde,” Ryndoril finished with a slight chuckle. “It sounds crazy.”

“Yes,” Ondolemar agreed.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” Ryndoril said, knowing the Altmer was anxious about it. He didn’t particularly like the situation, either.

“Of course I’m coming with you,” Ondolemar said at once, taking Ryndoril’s hand and squeezing it. “I am not going to leave you on your own, Ryn. I’m with you until the end.” 

Ryndoril gave him a small, anxious smile.

“I appreciate it,” he said sincerely. “I won’t pretend this doesn’t make me really nervous.”

“Everything you’ve already done, and this bothers you?” Ondolemar teased. “I’ve no doubt you’ll manage just fine.” 

Ryndoril smiled at him, steeling himself to take on the journey.

“Well, I guess we ought to get back up to the Keep,” he said. “Might as well get started. And at least it’s still early,” he added. “We probably have plenty of time to get through this temple, anyway.”

“You are aware you just ensured it will take days, aren’t you?” Ondolemar snorted. 

Ryndoril laughed.

“Hey, I can be optimistic.”

*****

“You have reconsidered my offer?” Odahviing asked upon seeing Ryndoril again. “ _Onikaan kron?_ You will release me – _ro laan_ – if in return I promise to take you to Skuldafn and stop helping Alduin?”

“Yes,” Ryndoril said, still not sure he was making the right decision. “I’ll set you free if you promise to take us to Skuldafn.” 

There was a pause before Odahviing answered.

“Us?” he finally said. “I can only take you, Dovahkiin. You cannot bring any companions.”

“What do you mean?” Ryndoril demanded, his temper flaring up at once – he was already on edge about this whole thing, but to think about not bringing along Ondolemar? “You’re a dragon – you’re huge! Surely you can take two of us.”

“Only the Dovahkiin will have a chance in Sovngarde,” Odahviing replied. “You must go alone.”

“Or we could kill you here and now and find another way to defeat Alduin,” Ondolemar snapped, eyes narrowed at the dragon. 

Ryndoril let out a frustrated sigh as Odahviing simply stared at the Altmer without commenting.

“There’s no time,” Ryndoril muttered, shaking his head. “I can’t pass up the opportunity to catch Alduin while he’s weakened. This could be my only shot.”

“So you plan to go off on your own, on the back of a dragon?” Ondolemar asked, shocked. “With no aid? A dragon who lied to you?” 

There was an indignant growl from Odahviing, but Ryndoril spoke first.

“He didn’t lie,” he said heavily. “He couldn’t have known I intended to take you.” He looked up into Ondolemar’s eyes, staring hard at him. The Altmer looked afraid and upset. “I don’t have any other option,” Ryndoril finally said softly, not taking his eyes off Ondolemar’s. “This is what has to be done.” He blew out a breath and turned back to Odahviing. “If I’m to go alone, I need to go and pack the things I’ll need, and get something to eat. I’ll return in a little while…and then I’ll go with you.”

“Understood,” Odahviing said. “I would prefer if you didn’t take too long, Dovahkiin. It is unpleasant to be trapped like this.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ryndoril promised him. 

He took Ondolemar’s hand and led the mer back down to Breezehome once more. Neither spoke on the way; Ryndoril could tell that Ondolemar was furious. 

“How could you even consider this, Ryndoril?” Ondolemar cried as soon as the door shut behind them, beginning to pace by the fire. “What are you thinking? You will be _killed_!”

“I have to,” Ryndoril said softly. “I…it’s what I have to do, love. Please… _please_ don’t be angry with me.”

“ _Angry with you?_ ” Ondolemar burst out, stopping and facing the Bosmer with a look of shock. “You think I’m _angry_ with you?!”

“I don’t want to upset you,” Ryndoril said placatingly, a lump rising in his throat. “I don’t…I don’t want to leave like this.” 

He barely saw Ondolemar move; the next moment, he was wrapped tightly in the Altmer’s arms.

“I’m not _angry_ with you,” Ondolemar choked out into Ryndoril’s ear. “I’m completely _terrified_ for you.” 

Ryndoril felt far less worried at these words, knowing the Altmer wasn’t angry. He hugged the Altmer back, the two standing in an embrace for a long time. He was a little afraid to let go; he wished he could simply freeze time. 

This wasn’t what he had planned. He’d been sure Ondolemar could remain with him. Going with the Altmer…it almost seemed like a bit of fun, like some of their other travels so far. Going by himself…it felt a lot more dangerous.

“I’ll be all right,” Ryndoril finally murmured against Ondolemar’s chest. “You know I’m good at taking care of myself.”

“I can’t lose you,” Ondolemar said thickly. He felt like his heart was being torn in two. “You…you mean everything to me, Ryn. How can I just let you…go? Without knowing if you’ll come back? Everything we’ve been through…I failed to protect you from Elenwen, and now I have to watch you go off on your own, unable to do anything at all?”

“I’ll come back,” Ryndoril promised fiercely. “I swear it, Ondolemar. I _will_ come back to you. It will all be okay.” 

Ondolemar was silent, though Ryndoril could feel him trembling like he was trying to hold back from crying.

“I will be holding you to that,” Ondolemar finally managed, his voice thick and rough. “You better.” He swallowed hard. “Could you stay? Just tonight?” 

Ryndoril squeezed him, feeling close to tears as well.

“Will it ever be long enough?” he replied softly. “You know I’d love to, Ondolemar. But it will just make it harder when I have to go.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Ondolemar agreed. He pulled away, wiping at his eyes. “Right, then. You must pack your things.”

“Going to help me?” Ryndoril asked with a sad smile.

“When I return,” Ondolemar replied, clearing his throat and trying to gather himself. “Just a little while.”

“Where are you going?” Ryndoril asked curiously.

“I just need to check on something,” the Altmer replied, a tiny smile crossing his lips. “I promise, I’ll return very soon.”

“I’ll get started here,” Ryndoril nodded, waving as Ondolemar stepped out the door. He sighed, looking around.

He was a lot more afraid than he was letting on. He didn’t want to worry Ondolemar more, but this…this felt like suicide. Who would be crazy enough to take the word of a dragon, to fly off to some temple, to find a portal to _Sovngarde_ , of all places? It felt like a bizarre dream, to be sure.

Reluctantly, Ryndoril began the process of figuring out what he’d need to take, and how to pack as much as possible into just his one pack. He’d need all the aid he could manage.

*****

True to his word, Ondolemar returned after being gone only a very short time. He looked rather unhappy, but determined all the same.

“What’s wrong?” Ryndoril asked, getting to his feet from where he’d been sorting potions. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” Ondolemar replied. He handed Ryndoril a box. “Here. I…wanted you to have this.” 

Ryndoril took the box from him, bewildered.

“You got me something?” he asked, staring at the Altmer. “That really wasn’t necessary, you know.”

“I know,” Ondolemar replied, a bit of a smile on his face. “I…want you to have every protection available. And this…well, it seems to be the best there is, for you.” 

Mystified, Ryndoril quickly opened up the box. He could hardly believe his eyes when he saw what was inside.

“Er…are you sure this is what you think it is?” he asked skeptically. 

Lying on a fine cloth was a beautifully made amulet of Talos.

“Yes,” Ondolemar said, his voice serious as his green eyes bored into Ryndoril’s. “This amulet has a protective enchantment on it that is specific to someone with dragon blood. You,” he added unnecessarily. “I’ve had it for a few weeks. I wasn’t able to learn the enchantment; I would never have given it to you like this if I could’ve done it on my own. I had left it with the idiot court wizard when we came here, hoping he could help somehow, but he couldn’t do it, either.” He blew out a breath. “So, in the interest of protecting you, no matter what…I want you to have this amulet of Talos.”

Ryndoril stared at him in shock for nearly a minute. The next moment, he’d set the box down on a chair and pulled Ondolemar into a tight hug.

He understood how much it must have cost the Altmer. With all his hatred of Talos, with that being the essence of his very job…to give the thing to Ryndoril, just to keep him safe…

“I love you,” Ryndoril said, squeezing the elf tightly. “This…this means so much to me.”

“Your safety and well-being is of more importance than anything else in this world,” Ondolemar replied, stroking Ryndoril’s hair. “Even more than blasted Talos-worship.”

“You are amazing,” Ryndoril breathed. “Absolutely amazing, my love. Thank you. For caring so much.”

“I will always care for you, my dear Bosmer,” Ondolemar murmured. “More than anything.”

*****

Ryndoril’s bag was packed, his stomach full, and he couldn’t have been any more prepared.

Physically, anyway.

He had stopped in the inn to say goodbye to Argis and Lydia; it felt strange. Final. He hoped it wouldn’t be. He pulled Lydia to the side and quietly asked her to let Ondolemar have the house while he was gone; she easily agreed, obviously not wanting to be around the mer anyway. 

He couldn’t stand the idea of leaving Ondolemar. The Altmer was so devastated about it, though he was trying to hold himself together. Ryndoril wished he could do something – anything – to make it better. But he was out of time.

“ _Onikaan koraav gein miraad_ ,” Odahviing greeted Ryndoril when they returned to the porch. “It is wise to recognize when you only have one choice. And you can trust me,” he added, with a look at Ondolemar as well. “ _Zu’u ni tahrodiis_. Alduin has proven himself unworthy to rule. I go my own way now. Free me, and I will carry you to Skuldafn.”

“Right,” Ryndoril said, nodding at the guards. “Release the dragon.”

“Are you mad?” one of the guards demanded, glaring at Ryndoril. “We just got him in there!”

“Do as you’re told and listen to the Dragonborn,” Ondolemar snapped. 

Ryndoril raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t comment; he knew Ondolemar was on edge at the moment, and he’d never handled anxiety well.

The guards grudgingly released the trap, and the dragon shook his head, relieved to be free. He made his way to the edge of the great porch, Ryndoril and Ondolemar following.

“ _Saraan uth_ – I await your command, as promised,” Odahviing said, his voice much happier at simply being free of the trap. “Are you ready to see the world as only a dovah can?” 

Ryndoril couldn’t help but smile. After all, despite the rest of his worries, he _was_ about to fly on the back of a dragon.

“One minute,” Ryndoril said, and turned to Ondolemar. “I – I’ll try to come back quick,” he said softly. It felt like nothing he could say would be adequate just then. “It can’t take too long, right?”

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar murmured, stepping toward the Bosmer and putting his hands on the smaller elf’s shoulders. “I love you. With everything I am, I love you.” 

He leaned down, pulling Ryndoril toward him, and kissed the Bosmer deeply, pouring everything he could into it. It was much too soon when they broke apart; forever couldn’t have been long enough at that moment. Ryndoril gazed up at him for a moment, tears burning in his brown eyes.

“I love you, too, Ondolemar,” he whispered. It wasn’t enough – not nearly enough – but it was all he had.

“Auri-El guide you,” Ondolemar said, and pressed a final kiss to Ryndoril’s forehead. “I shall see you soon.”

“Very soon,” Ryndoril agreed firmly. “Try to stay out of trouble while I’m gone.” 

Ondolemar managed a small smile.

“I’ll try.” 

With one last squeeze of fingers, the two parted, and Ryndoril stepped over to Odahviing.

“ _Zok brit uth_!” Odahviing said, sounding excited. “I warn you, once you’ve flown the skies of _Keizaal_ , your envy of the dov will only increase.” 

Ryndoril grinned at that, readying himself, and he heard Ondolemar give a weak chuckle behind him, too.

“Let’s go, Odahviing,” he said, and he climbed atop the dragon’s neck.

“Take care of him,” Ondolemar said, walking closer to the dragon, not a trace of fear in him. “If I find out you’ve killed him, I will hunt you for the rest of my days, dragon.”

“Worry not,” Odahviing said, now sounding slightly impatient. “ _Amativ! Mu bo kotin stinselok._ We fly into the free skies!” 

With a great jolt, Odahviing spread his great wings, and the next thing Ryndoril knew, the ground, the Keep, and everyone on the great porch were falling away. Elf and dragon together, they flew as one into the bright sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Ondolemar, I've been so mean to him in this story. He can't arrest Heimskr, he can't kill the Blades, and now he's gotta watch Ryn fly away on a dragon alone! *sigh*


	10. Chapter 10

“This is as far as I can take you,” Odahviing told Ryndoril as they landed solidly at Skuldafn not long after taking off. It was an even shorter trip than the Bosmer expected.

“Thank you, Odahviing,” Ryndoril replied, climbing down off the dragon.

It had been the most exhilarating experience of his life, that was certain; he wished he could’ve shared it with Ondolemar. There was surely nothing else like it in the world.

“ _Krif voth ahkrin_. I will look for your return…or Alduin’s.”

With those parting words, Odahviing took flight once more, leaving Ryndoril on his own.

The Bosmer looked around, taking in everything he could see from his low vantage point. He was surrounded by peaks of mountains, and from what he could tell, it would have been just as impossible as Odahviing had said to reach this temple without flying to it.

It wasn’t all that different from most other ancient ruins he’d come across; old, crumbling, and vaguely creepy. One thing he took note of were the gorgeous waterfalls – all the way up in the mountains like this and utterly unspoiled. They were beautiful, and he wished that Ondolemar could be there to enjoy it with him.

Once he’d gotten his bearings, he realized he ought to move on; the sooner he got this done with, the sooner he could be back home. He easily spotted the stairs that were most likely to take him to an entrance of some kind and, taking a deep breath to steel himself, the elf began his journey.

*****

Ryndoril was used to fighting draugr – they could be tough at times, but he’d always managed. He’d certainly traveled through enough ancient Nord ruins to have experience, after all.

The draugr at Skuldafn, however, were different from anything he’d previously encountered. They could Shout, for one thing; they only seemed to know the unrelenting force Shout, but it was more than enough to make fighting them very difficult. When several converged on him at once – which happened far too many times for his liking – it made things almost impossible.

It was a good thing he’d stocked up on so many healing potions before flying off on Odahviing. He greatly missed Ondolemar’s magical aid.

By some divine stroke of luck, there were more healing potions to be found along the way through the temple – set next to tombs, on shelves, or just lying around. He’d always wondered what the dead – or undead – would need with healing potions, but he wasn’t about to question the blessing now.

He wasn’t sure how much time passed as he fought his way through the vast temple of Skuldafn with all its complex, winding paths. As he emerged on the other side – covered in blood, bruised, and utterly exhausted – he realized it had been more than half a day by the sun’s position in the sky. He’d only found the briefest of breaks to gulp down a potion or swallow some food to keep him going, but there was no truly safe place to rest; with no lookout, he had no choice but to keep going.

He gazed around the large terrace he found himself on; it seemed to be built right into the mountain itself. He realized he was higher up than he’d started; the peaks of the mountains were much closer to him now.

Something strange caught his eye almost at once, and he squinted to get a better view. In the distance, there was a strange beam of light that seemed to go from the ground right into the sky. It was certainly nothing of this world; he’d never seen anything like it. It had to be what he sought.

Alduin’s portal to Sovngarde.

Downing another stamina potion to keep himself awake and energized, Ryndoril cautiously made his way toward the odd light beam. As he crept closer, he spotted a figure standing at its base on some kind of platform.

It was no draugr; it was shaped differently to any he’d seen, and rather than standing on the ground, seemed to be floating above it. Rather than puzzle about it too long, Ryndoril stealthily aimed his bow to get a shot off before he was noticed. His second arrow downed the creature, whatever it was, and he shot off a third one for good measure before creeping slowly toward the platform on which it had stood.

The beam of light emitted a strange sound that grew much louder as he got closer – not a sound he could describe, but one that was clearly ethereal. This was definitely the portal he needed.

Checking over the still form of the creature he’d shot down, he noticed it didn’t seem to be made of much of anything. Instead of a face, it had nothing but a mask. Gingerly picking the mask up, he could feel it was enchanted; with what, he didn’t know, but he was sure Ondolemar would be able to figure it out. He put it into his pack before approaching the light beam.

Just in front of him, where the creature had been standing, was a magical staff; it seemed to be stuck in the ground. He was sure it had something to do with the portal, as it was surrounded by a seal of some kind; he was afraid to touch it, as he didn’t want to risk anything now, not when he was so close.

This was it. This was what he’d come here to do. He was about to go to Sovngarde.

Ryndoril took a deep breath and said a short prayer to the Divines.

He jumped in.

*****

Sovngarde was… _incredible_.

The sky seemed to be made of auroras; similar to what he’d seen on clear nights in Skyrim, but altogether more fantastic. He didn’t know how long he stood there, staring around in shock, after he landed atop a set of stone steps. The sky was nothing but brilliant colors, all swirling into a single spot of bright, white light.

He realized that all his aches and pains, all his worldly weariness, everything that had been wrong with him before, was all gone. He felt incredible. _Invincible_.

Energized, ready for whatever awaited him in this realm, Ryndoril began to make his way down the steps. The ground below was rather misty; he wondered if this was normal, and if it was, why would the Nords want so much mist around in their eternity?

It didn’t bother him, though. He almost felt like _nothing_ could bother him. He felt no fear, no worry, no alarm. He felt _good_ ; he was strong, he was tough, and there was nothing he couldn’t do. Not here. He had made it; he had arrived in Sovngarde. He would do what he came to do now. The hard part was over.

He couldn’t see much of the path through the thick mist obscuring everything, but he managed to make out enough to keep going. Surely the path would lead him to where he needed to go, to find Alduin, to fight him.

“Turn back, traveler!” 

A voice in the mist made Ryndoril nearly jump out of his skin – it had been so peacefully quiet, and he hadn’t expected to be addressed. A figure emerged from the fog, and he saw it was a soldier dressed in Stormcloak armor. 

“Terror waits within this mist. Many have braved the shadowed vale, but vain is all courage against the peril that guards the way.” 

Letting his breathing calm for a second, Ryndoril took a moment before replying.

“What is this mist?” Ryndoril asked. He realized that it definitely was _not_ normal, and the tiniest seed of worry crept into his mind at the knowledge. Perhaps this wouldn’t be as easy as it initially seemed.

“I do not know,” the soldier replied. “But none have passed through. Alduin, his hunger insatiable, hunts the lost souls snared within this shadowed valley.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril sighed, shaking his head. That would explain what Alduin was doing here. Strengthening himself on the souls of the mortals. He’d said himself that’s what he did. “Well, don’t worry, I’m here to take care of it.”

“None have passed through the mist!” the soldier told him again. “It is in vain, traveler!” 

Ryndoril simply shook his head – he wasn’t going to argue the point. He made his way onward, determined to find where the path led.

In the valley properly now, Ryndoril could hear Alduin’s roars; the dragon didn’t seem to know he was there, or if he did, he wasn’t bothering him. The Bosmer got a shock when the dragon swooped down mere feet in front of him, carrying away another Nord soldier left in the mist. 

Rather than feeling scared, Ryndoril felt angry; what right did Alduin have to deny these mortal souls their eternity? He was determined that he’d put a stop to this, that he’d end Alduin’s reign altogether.

Ryndoril pressed on, and after a while he saw something different; a building, rising out of the mist, almost like a beacon. It practically shone, guiding him onward, and he emerged from the mist, able to see the valley in its entirety now. 

Mist covered nearly all of it; surely more souls were lost within that mist. And he had no doubt as to what – or rather, who – was causing it.

Before reaching the hall, which he knew beyond a doubt was his destination, Ryndoril was stopped by a rather large Nord man in front of a bridge made of what seemed to be bones –bones that belonged to something bigger than Ryndoril’s imagining.

“What brings you, wayfarer grim, to wander here, in Sovngarde, souls-end, Shor’s gift to honored dead?” the large man asked. 

Ryndoril eyed him, feeling slightly wary of him; he was larger than any man Ryndoril had ever met, easily bigger than even Thrynn from the Thieves Guild (who was impressively sized himself). His muscles were easily visible in the light from the aurora-sky, and he wore little armor. 

“Who are you?” Ryndoril asked hesitantly. He was here to fight Alduin, after all, not the Nord dead, but he couldn’t help being a little unsure.

“I am Tsun, shield-thane to Shor,” the man replied. “The Whalebone Bridge he bade me guard and winnow all those souls whose heroic end sent them here, to Shor’s lofty hall. Where welcome, well-earned, awaits those I judge fit to join that fellowship of honor.”

This made sense with the little that Ryndoril knew of Nord tales. He’d certainly heard of Shor, and knowing what he did of the afterlife, it seemed right that this should be Shor’s hall. He’d heard the Companions speak of it often. He wondered if they knew how real it was.

“I pursue Alduin, the World-Eater,” Ryndoril said, explaining himself to the man. 

“A fateful errand,” Tsun sighed. “No few have chafed to face the worm since first he set his soul-snare here at Sovngarde’s threshold. But Shor restrained our wrathful onslaught – perhaps, deep-counseled, your doom he foresaw.”

Ryndoril was feeling a little irritated at the way everyone here seemed to speak in such a strange way. It was as though he was reading an old literary work, rather than hearing an actual person talk. Thinking it would be a little rude to mention this aloud, he kept it to himself.

“I need to get into the Hall,” Ryndoril said. “If there’s anyone who knows anything there…I need to defeat Alduin.”

“No shade are you, as usually here passes,” Tsun said, contemplating him, “but living, you dare the land of the dead. By what right do you request entry?”

“Um…” Ryndoril wasn’t sure what to answer, really. He wasn’t dead, and he certainly wasn’t a Nord. “I’m Dragonborn,” he finally offered. That had to be enough, right?

“Ah!” Tsun said, sounding pleased. “It’s been too long since last I faced a doom-driven hero of the dragon blood.”

“So…can I get in?” Ryndoril pressed. Was the man simply going to toy with him?

“Living or dead, by decree of Shor, none may pass this perilous bridge ‘til I judge them worthy by the warrior’s test,” Tsun replied.

“Warrior’s test?” Ryndoril asked anxiously. He didn’t want to hurt this man…not that he was sure it was a man, after all. But he also wasn’t sure he liked his chances…the man was easily twice his size.

“I just need to know you’re worthy,” Tsun said with a grin. “Ready your bow!” And with that, he pulled the giant axe off his back and made for Ryndoril.

On pure instinct, Ryndoril grabbed his bow, nocked an arrow, and let it fly, piercing Tsun in the arm before he even reached the Bosmer. Backing up and shooting fast, Ryndoril managed to hit the man with several more arrows, avoiding all hits to himself, if only just barely. Oddly, the arrows didn’t seem to be doing anything to Tsun – any other opponent would’ve been on the ground with the arrow to the thigh, but Tsun wasn’t fazed at all.

After a few minutes of this, Tsun lowered his axe, laughing.

“You fought well,” he nodded to Ryndoril, stowing his axe on his back once more. “I find you worthy. It is long since one of the living has entered here. May Shor’s favor follow you and your errand.”

Ryndoril realized he wasn’t nearly as worn out as he would expect after such a fight – if anything, he felt exhilarated. Amazed at what felt like a giant stroke of luck, Ryndoril nodded at Tsun, who took up his post by the Whalebone Bridge once again. The bridge looked a little treacherous, but Ryndoril had always been nimble-footed, and it didn’t worry him.

He had to admit he found this all rather fascinating; he’d heard the Nords talk of Sovngarde, of their afterlife, of what awaited heroes…mostly the Companions. Seeing it for himself, firsthand, was something absolutely incredible, even if he hadn’t put much stock in their stories before.

Ryndoril pushed open the gigantic doors leading into Shor’s Hall, and his mouth fell open at what he saw inside. Two full-sized oxen were roasting on a fire pit in the middle of the room, surrounded by dining tables, and he could see there was even more to the place off in the distance. Knowing the Nords he did, he could see why this was their final haven, their reward for a life well-lived. 

Making his way down the steps, Ryndoril was stopped by a Nord man, this one also large, though not as much so as Tsun.

“Welcome, Dragonborn!” the man said jovially. “Our door has stood empty since Alduin first set his soul-snare here. By Shor’s command we sheathed our blades and ventured not the vale’s dark mist. But three await your word to loose their fury upon the perilous foe.” He named the three Tongues that Ryndoril had seen, the ones who had appeared to him when he opened the Elder Scroll to learn Dragonrend. 

“Good,” Ryndoril said, satisfied. At long last, it seemed he would finally be finishing his task. Following his destiny, fulfilling the prophecy.

Heading over toward the far end of the table where the man had pointed him, Ryndoril wondered at those he saw. He knew Sovngarde was a place for Nord heroes. Who all was among them? Were there any he knew?

Just then, he heard someone call out the name Ysgramor. Turning, he saw the woman greeting the man who’d just spoken to him.

He’d just spoken to _Ysgramor_. Ysgramor had greeted him when he walked into the Hall of Valor.

Ryndoril stood frozen for a moment, trying to process this. On one hand, he wasn’t all that fond of Ysgramor – nor his axe, which it seemed the spirit-man still carried, despite the physical blade being left with the Companions. On the other hand…he was a legend. A real, true to life _legend_. And he’d spoken to Ryndoril like they were old friends.

This was the most bizarre experience he’d _ever_ had, including the things Sanguine had come up with.

A few steps farther on, another man greeted him, this one wearing robes rather than armor. Ryndoril nodded at him politely, trying to make his way over to the three Nords he could recognize from his trip through time – Hakon, Gormlaith, and Felldir.

“Ah, Dragonborn,” the man said, a rueful smile on his face as he held his hand out to Ryndoril. Ryndoril shook it, looking quizzically at him. “I am Jurgen Windcaller,” he explained, and Ryndoril’s mouth fell open once more.

“You – _you’re_ Jurgen Windcaller?” he said, letting go of the man’s hand. “The one the Greybeards revere so much?”

“I am,” the man said, still smiling. “My disciples still follow the difficult path. The Way of the Voice is neither wide nor easy.” 

_I’ll say_ , Ryndoril wanted to remark, but again thought it better to keep his mouth shut.

“Yeah,” was all he said instead.

“Fate drives you,” Jurgen went on, “but you follow your own path. Choose wisely, lest you wander into evil.” And with those words, he turned and walked back toward the table.

“Uh, thanks,” Ryndoril muttered under his breath, continuing toward the Tongues. The old man had _definitely_ been a Greybeard, Ryndoril thought with a smirk.

“Dragonborn!” one of the Tongues called as he approached – he recognized the one named Gormlaith from the vision he’d seen in the Elder Scroll. “At long last! Alduin’s doom is now ours to seal – just speak the word and with high hearts we’ll hasten forth to smite the worm wherever he lurks!”

“Hold, comrades,” the old one, Felldir, cautioned before Ryndoril could reply. “Let us counsel take before battle is blindly joined. Alduin’s mist is more than a snare – its shadowy gloom is his shield and cloak. But with four Voices joined, our valor combined, we can blast the mist and bring him to battle.”

“Felldir speaks wisdom,” the last one, Hakon, said to Ryndoril. “The World-Eater, coward, fears you, Dragonborn. We must drive away his mist, Shouting together, and then unsheathe our blades in desperate battle with our black-winged foe.”

“Exactly,” Ryndoril said, smirking a little. More of the poetic nonsense – he had a feeling his old acquaintance Jon Battle-Born in Whiterun would fit in well with these men and women. But he got the gist of it, anyway. “Let’s take him down.”

“To battle, my friends!” Gormlaith cried. “The fields will echo with the clamor of war, our wills undaunted!” And with that, she hurried out of the hall, leaving the others to follow her.

“The eyes of Shor are upon you this day,” Tsun said as the four passed him. “Defeat Alduin, and destroy his soul-snare.”

Ryndoril didn’t reply, just kept hurrying after the others. They came upon the edge of the valley, the mist hovering over all of it, and finally came to a stop.

“We cannot fight the foe in this mist!” Felldir cried.

“Clear Skies – combine our Shouts!” Gormlaith replied. “Three – two – one – “

“Lok…vah koor!” the four Shouted together, making the ground shudder beneath their feet. 

The mist cleared for a short time, but Alduin quickly Shouted it back into place. Several times more they played this game, the Tongues and Ryndoril Shouting the sky clear before Alduin Shouted the mist back. 

Finally, though, the four seemed to have broken the dragon’s might. He appeared himself, the sky remaining clear.

“The endless wait gives way to battle!” said Gormlaith giddily. “Alduin’s doom – his death or ours!”

 _That means a lot, considering_ you’re _already dead_ , Ryndoril thought sarcastically, but decided not to say it aloud. It was time to focus on Alduin.

“ _Zu’u lost kriaan hi ont, nu hin sille fen nahkip suleyki_ ,” Alduin roared at them, flying around above their heads. “Dovahkiin, you should not have come here _. Nu hin sil dii_.”

“Yeah, well, too late,” Ryndoril muttered in reply, firing off arrows in rapid succession. 

He had to admit he was impressed; he knew Nords were good fighters, particularly having gone out with Lydia so often, but the Tongues were like nothing he’d ever seen before. Between his own skill with a bow and the others managing to help, along with their use of the Dragonrend Shout to keep Alduin in range and weakened, they were making progress. Alduin was losing.

With a final shot to the soft part of his neck, Alduin cried out; this was no cry of pain, nor simple anger – it was a cry of utmost defeat. He was done for – and he knew it.

“ _Zu’u unslaad_!” Alduin cried out in agony. 

Ryndoril lowered his bow, watching in amazement as the dragon seemed to be disintegrating before his very eyes. 

“ _Zu’u nis oblaan_!” 

With a final cry of misery, Alduin seemed to glow for a moment before he burst into millions of pieces, disappearing at last.

There were victorious cries all around from his fellow fighters, and even Tsun let out a whoop of joy. 

Ryndoril just stood for a moment, hardly able to believe it was over. All the work he’d done, all the chasing he’d done, everything he’d been through for all of this…and it was done. Alduin was finished. He’d fulfilled his purpose. And he’d lived through it.

“Dragonborn,” Tsun said, just behind Ryndoril, making the Bosmer flinch and whirl to face him. He looked pleased. “This was a mighty deed. The doom of Alduin encompassed at last, and cleansed is Sovngarde of his evil snare. They will sing of this battle in Shor’s hall forever. But your fate lies elsewhere. When you have completed your count of days, I may welcome you again with glad friendship, and bid you join in the blessed feasting.” 

Ryndoril smiled at that, trying not to laugh – this was most definitely _not_ his idea of a grand eternity. It seemed rude to say it, though, so he kept it to himself.

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said instead. “This was…I’m…” he felt a little tongue-tied; he was still astonished at everything that had happened, and that it was all just _over_. “I’m glad I could help,” he finally settled on saying. 

Tsun grinned at him.

“When you are ready to rejoin the living, just bid me so, and I will send you back,” said Tsun. “You should be warned, however; the passage of time shows itself differently here in Sovngarde than in the mortal world.”

“What do you mean?” Ryndoril asked, mystified by this.

“Few hours have passed since your entry into Sovngarde,” Tsun explained. “But upon your return to the worldly Nirn, you will know it as three mortal weeks passing in that short time.”

“Three _weeks_?” Ryndoril asked, shocked. “You’re kidding. I’ve been gone three weeks, to anyone down there?”

“Yes,” Tsun nodded. “And once you have returned, it will feel as such to you, as well.”

“How so?” Ryndoril asked. This sounded worrying.

“You will return as if you have just left, but after three weeks of time,” Tsun said. “It will be as though you were sleeping for three weeks. You will recover quickly, thanks to your dragon spirit – however, it does come as a surprise, on the rare occasion we get a living mortal here.” 

Ryndoril didn’t care for the sound of that, but there wasn’t exactly anything he could do about it.

“Alright. Well…hurry up and send me back, then, I guess,” he said. 

He realized as he said it just how much he missed Ondolemar – it didn’t feel like he’d left him that long ago, but at the same time it felt like an eternity. It would be a relief to be with him again.

“Return now to Nirn!” Tsun cried, and with a Shout Ryndoril couldn’t quite make out, the man sent him falling – through space and time, through the world itself, through everything. 

Before he could take a breath, he landed.

The snow crunched beneath his feet, the ground solid beneath him, even as more snow fell around him – it was storming rather hard, wherever Tsun had sent him back to. He wished he’d asked. 

A moment later, Ryndoril realized there were a number of dragons circling above his head – all speaking words he didn’t understand. None of them seemed like they wanted to attack him, however, which was good – he’d just realized exactly what Tsun had meant.

He thought he might pass out right there. He was starving, and he was so, so tired. Exhaustion didn’t seem nearly a strong enough word. Cold as it might have been, he wanted little more than to curl up in the snow and sleep for years. Only one thought kept him from doing it.

Ondolemar.

He had to get back to Ondolemar; he keenly missed the Altmer upon his return to the mortal world, missed him like he missed air. There was a hole in his chest that he was sure wouldn’t fill up until he saw his lover again. He had to figure out where he was, and he had to find his way back to Ondolemar.

“So, it is done,” a voice said to him, above the roars of the dragons overhead. It was close by, and it startled Ryndoril, but he barely had the energy to feel surprise. 

Looking around, he recognized Paarthurnax. So he was on the Throat of the World.

“Hey, Paarthurnax,” Ryndoril said, his voice weak.

“Alduin _dilon_ ,” Paarthurnax went on. “The Eldest is no more, he who came before all others, and has always been.”

“Yes,” Ryndoril replied; he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but Paarthurnax sounded less than pleased. “I had to; he had to be destroyed.”

“Of course,” Paarthurnax agreed, though he still sounded upset. “Alduin _wahlaan daanii_. I would not have helped you if I thought otherwise. You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his _pahlok_ – in the arrogance of his power. But I cannot celebrate his fall _. Zu’u tiiraaz ahst ok mah_. He was my brother once. This world will never be the same.”

Ryndoril heaved a tired sigh.

“I understand,” he nodded. “I’m sorry, Paarthurnax. I know it…has to be hard, no matter how right it was. I…” he felt the need to defend himself. “I was just fulfilling my destiny as Dragonborn.”

“Indeed, you saw more clearly than I,” Paarthurnax agreed. “Certainly more clearly than Alduin. _Rok funta koraav_. Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the _vennesetiid_ – the currents of Time. Perhaps you begin to see the world as a dovah.” 

Ryndoril thought about this for a moment, but it just made his head ache with tiredness. 

“But I forget myself. _Krosis_ ,” Paarthurnax apologized. “ _So los mid fahdon_. Melancholy is an easy trap for a dovah to fall into. You have won a mighty victory,” he added, and Ryndoril couldn’t help feeling a little proud; he had great respect for the old dragon, and to hear that bit of praise was a nice feeling. “Savor your triumph, Dovahkiin. This is not the last of what you will write upon the currents of Time.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril said solemnly. Oh, if only he could shut his eyes, rest for just a little while…

“ _Goraan_!” Paarthurnax said, suddenly sounding happier. He stretched his wings. “I feel younger than I have in many an age. Many of the _dovahhe_ are now scattered across _Keizaal_. Without Alduin’s lordship, they may yet bow to the _vahzen_ …the rightness of my _Thu’um_. But willing or no, they will hear it! Fare the well, Dovahkiin!” 

With that, the old white dragon took flight, and soon was indistinguishable from the other dragon-like shapes flying overhead. 

Ryndoril couldn’t help smiling a little at the sight. He knew he’d have to come up and visit the old dragon now and then.

Ryndoril, resigned to waiting a night at the monastery, started to head down the mountain. Before he’d gotten more than a few steps away, however, another dragon landed not far in front of him. He recognized Odahviing at once.

 _“Pruzah wundunne wah Wuth Gein_ ,” he said, sounding faintly amused. “I wish the old one luck in his…quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin’s lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax’s ‘Way of the Voice’.” 

Ryndoril laughed a little; he agreed with the red dragon, even if he wouldn’t have said so to Paarthurnax.

“As for myself,” Odahviing went on, staring hard at Ryndoril, “you’ve proven your mastery twice over. _Thuri_ , Dovahkiin. I gladly acknowledge the power of your _Thu’um_.”

“Thanks, Odahviing,” Ryndoril mumbled, seriously having trouble staying awake now. “Thanks for all your help, too. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“Perhaps not,” Odahviing agreed rather smugly. “ _Zu’u_ Odahviing. Call me if you have need, and I will come if I can.” 

Ryndoril smiled at this, grateful.

“Actually,” he said, an idea coming to him, “could you help me right now?”

“What do you require, Dovahkiin?” Odahviing asked politely.

“Could you…fly me back to Dragonsreach?” he asked tentatively.

“Hmm,” Odahviing said, not happy with the idea. “I do not see how trapping me again is going to help you, I admit.”

“No,” Ryndoril hurried to assure him. “I just…need to get back to Whiterun. And I’m exhausted. If you could take me…I’d really appreciate it. I’ll never trap you again,” he added. “You have my word.” 

Odahviing considered for a moment.

“All right,” he finally agreed. “But I do not intend to be ridden like your steed everywhere you go.”

“No, this is a one-time thing, I promise,” Ryndoril assured him, climbing up onto the dragon’s neck once more. “And I’m really grateful, Odahviing. Thank you.”

“Hold on, Dovahkiin,” Odahviing said, taking flight once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband noted that Ryndoril spent a lot of time in Sovngarde biting his tongue. He is an elf, after all...one with a bit of a smart mouth, and stuck in the land of Nord dead. What else could you expect from him? :P


	11. Chapter 11

Three weeks had passed since Ryndoril left Dragonsreach on the back of the great red dragon.

Three of the longest weeks Ondolemar could ever remember suffering through.

He’d been so sure Ryndoril would have returned by now. He was flying on a dragon, and it surely couldn’t take _weeks_ to defeat Alduin!

A small voice in his head (that had been growing frustratingly louder in the last several days) was keen to remind him of the likelihood that Ryndoril was not coming back. That perhaps he had fulfilled his purpose, but did not live through the attempt.

Ondolemar angrily shut this voice down when these thoughts occurred. He believed in the elf; he _knew_ Ryndoril would come back. He _had_ to.

This faith didn’t stop him, in the lowest moments, from severely doubting whether his lover would return to him. The dark moments, the moments when he was lonelier than ever. He was staying in Breezehome while he waited for the Bosmer to come back; Lydia and Argis had left the house for him to have to himself. He was sure it was less out of graciousness than it was simply not wanting to be around him, but he could hardly complain. Though he had to admit Ryndoril’s two housecarls were far less insufferable than he was used to Nords being, they _were_ still Nords.

It was during one of these low moments that Ondolemar found himself sitting on the floor, staring morosely into the fire, a few bottles of wine already emptied around him and another in his hand. Try as he might to convince himself that Ryndoril would still return, _could_ still return, the hated voice was louder than it had been yet. 

Each passing day, he became more sure that he’d lost the Bosmer forever. What he wouldn’t give to hold Ryndoril again. To go back in time, insist on going with him. Anything, _anything_ that would allow Ryndoril to be by his side once more.

He felt tears spring to his eyes and angrily swallowed the lump in his throat. He would not cry about it; he refused. If he allowed himself to mourn, it would be like admitting that Ryndoril was truly gone. 

A noise startled him out of his morose thoughts; it took him a moment to realize it was a series of slow, heavy knocks on the door. Shaking his head to try and clear it, he got to his feet, wobbling slightly, and went to answer the door. He assumed it was Lydia, coming to retrieve something from the house, or else to bring him food and insist he eat it. She’d been good about that, and though he couldn’t admit it out loud, he _did_ appreciate it.

Upon opening the door, however, he nearly fell over in shock.

It was Ryndoril.

“Ryn?” he breathed, unsure if perhaps he was dreaming. 

The Bosmer looked utterly exhausted, leaning against the door frame as though he couldn’t even make himself stand. 

“Hey, love,” Ryndoril said, managing a tired smile. “Gods, but I’ve missed you.”

“Ryn,” Ondolemar choked out, drawing the tired elf into his arms and squeezing him tightly. “Ryn, you’ve come back.”

“Of course I did,” Ryndoril said softly, managing to raise his arms and give the Altmer a hug in return. “I’m the Dragonborn.” 

Ondolemar choked an emotional laugh, thoroughly unable to control himself.

“I can hardly believe it,” Ondolemar murmured, holding tightly to Ryndoril. “But what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril said with a happy sigh, sinking into Ondolemar’s grip. “Just…really tired. I’ll explain later. Can you just…help me to bed?”

“Of course,” Ondolemar said at once; he was very much inclined to do anything the Bosmer asked at the moment. Unwilling to let go of Ryndoril for even a moment, Ondolemar picked him up, carrying him up to the bedroom.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Ryndoril said with a tired chuckle.

“I wanted to,” Ondolemar replied in a voice thick with emotion. “I…I love you, Ryn.” 

Ryndoril grinned, closing his eyes and leaning his head against Ondolemar’s shoulder.

“I love you, too,” Ryndoril murmured.

Ondolemar settled Ryndoril into the bed, helping him get his armor and weapons off so he could be comfortable. He couldn’t stop finding little ways to touch the Bosmer, to reassure himself he was real, he was there, he was _alive_.

“Are you sure you’re not injured?” Ondolemar asked as Ryndoril settled against the pillows. “Do you need healing?”

“No, love,” Ryndoril assured him. “I’m just fine. But thanks.” He closed his eyes, then opened them again sleepily. “You didn’t ask if I defeated Alduin or not.” 

Ondolemar stared at him for a moment; it was true, he hadn’t. He hadn’t actually thought about it.

“It…doesn’t much matter to me right now,” Ondolemar admitted honestly, caressing the Bosmer’s cheek. “You’re alive, and you’re here with me…I don’t give a damn about the rest of the world.” 

Ryndoril laughed, eyes closing once more.

“Thanks, love,” Ryndoril murmured. “I did, though. I did it.”

“I knew you could,” Ondolemar whispered, feeling tears in his eyes again. “I’m so proud of you, Ryn.” 

Ryndoril fell asleep within moments, a smile on his face.

Ondolemar watched him for a long time, still barely believing the elf was there next to him. Despite Ryndoril’s reassurances, he couldn’t help checking him over for injuries, though there truly didn’t seem to be any. 

Part of him _was_ curious what had happened, how Ryndoril had done it; most of him, however, didn’t care. The elf was alive; he’d fulfilled his destiny, and come back alive, and he was here, with Ondolemar.

That in mind, Ondolemar crawled into bed with Ryndoril, holding the elf in his arms and falling into a more restful sleep than he’d had in months.

*****

Ryndoril slept most of the day. Ondolemar wasn’t sure why he wasn’t waking, but seeing as he’d just defeated the ruler of the dragons, it only seemed right to allow the Bosmer as much rest as he’d like. Ryndoril seemed in fine health, so Ondolemar wasn’t too worried.

The quiet had, however, given him ample time to _think_ throughout the day.

Ryndoril was alive. He had defeated the World-Eater, fulfilled the prophecy, and lived to tell about it. The Bosmer was back with him once more, and this time, Ondolemar had no intention of ever letting him go again. 

They’d been through so much in the near year they’d known one another – Ryndoril had _changed_ him so much. From being a grouchy Thalmor Commander stuck in the cold stone city of Markarth…to being the Dragonborn’s companion, traveling around Skyrim. Fighting dragons. Fighting bandits. Exploring the country with the Bosmer at his side. And, he had to admit, a good bit less grouchy. Around Ryndoril, anyway. 

Ondolemar had never, _would_ never feel this way about anyone else, ever again. Ryndoril was the one, his life, his joy. And he didn’t give a damn what the Altmer race liked or did not, nor the Thalmor themselves. He wanted to marry Ryndoril…and no one was going to stop him.

Now if only the Bosmer would wake up so he could ask him properly!

The Altmer had spent a large portion of the day simply staying beside Ryndoril; it had taken a little while to convince himself that the Bosmer was really there with him again, and he wasn’t imagining things. Whatever he’d tried to pretend, Ondolemar had certainly feared the worst after the small elf was gone for so long, and realizing that Ryndoril was not only back with him, but quite fine, was enough to make him not want to leave the elf’s side at all.

He was interrupted shortly after noon by a knock at the door. Annoyed, he hurried down the stairs to answer it before the noise woke Ryndoril.

“Has he really come back?” Lydia asked breathlessly the second Ondolemar had opened the door. “Is it true what they’re saying?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar frowned at her. “He’s back, and alive. And exhausted,” he added pointedly. “He needs to rest.” 

Lydia rolled her eyes at his brusqueness – she was used to him by now and didn’t bother feeling offended by his tone toward her anymore.

“I just want to know he’s alright,” Lydia said. “You’re not the only one who’s been worried about him, you know.” 

Ondolemar sighed, shaking his head. He had to acknowledge that she was right, little though he wanted to.

“He’s fine,” Ondolemar assured her, somewhat less tersely than usual. “He told me he’s very tired…and he fell asleep almost immediately. He’s been sleeping ever since he came in, late last night.” 

She eyed him for a few moments, as though trying to decide if he was telling the truth. Finally, she shrugged.

“Alright,” she said. “If you say so…I’ll believe you. I don’t think you’d lie about _him_ , anyway, even if it is to me,” she added with a bit of a smirk.

“I’m no liar,” Ondolemar replied, affronted. “He’s upstairs, and I don’t care if you believe me or not, I’m not letting anyone bother him. You didn’t see him; he was nearly passing out at the door.” 

There was a pause while they glared at one another, each trying to see if the other would break. Ondolemar finally huffed out a breath. 

“When he awakes, I will tell him you wish to see him. It may not be until tomorrow, for all I know. But I won’t have you disturbing him.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” Lydia agreed. “If he’s that tired…I don’t want to make things worse.” With a final nod at Ondolemar, Lydia walked away, back toward the inn. 

The Altmer shut the door, shaking his head in annoyance. He supposed he wasn’t really being fair; he knew the woman cared about Ryndoril, too. But he didn’t much care about being fair at the moment. He cared about Ryndoril.

*****

Finally, as the sun began to set once more over Whiterun, Ryndoril stirred. He rolled over, facing Ondolemar, and blinked. Then he smiled.

“Hey, you,” he murmured sleepily. 

The rush of affection, of pure love that coursed through Ondolemar at the two, simple, sleepy words was indescribable. It nearly took his breath away, and he found it hard to think.

“Marry me,” Ondolemar blurted out in a rushed breath, not at all meaning to have said the words. It wasn’t right, he needed to ask properly – but there was nothing for it now. He felt himself redden as Ryndoril simply stared at him, mouth parted.

“What?” Ryndoril finally croaked, blinking again as though unsure if he was actually awake. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said fiercely, finding Ryndoril’s hand and squeezing it. Right timing or not, he’d not leave Ryndoril doubting. “Please, Ryn. I want – I _wish_ to marry you.”

“But…what about before?” Ryndoril asked breathlessly, confused. He hadn’t dared to even consider the possibility, after their conversation with the Amulet of Mara. “You said you couldn’t – “

“I don’t care,” Ondolemar said, a sudden note of desperation in his voice. “I don’t give a damn, Ryn, I want you by my side for the rest of my life!”

“But love,” Ryndoril said softly, stroking his thumb over Ondolemar’s fingers, “you already have that. You don’t have to jeopardize your job…your life. I’m yours, Ondolemar. Always.”

“I know,” Ondolemar murmured, unable to take his eyes off Ryndoril’s. “I know that, Ryndoril. But I wish to be married to you. I wish to have you as my own – as my husband.” 

Ryndoril couldn’t help it – he grinned giddily.

“You’re _sure_?” he asked, wanting to rid himself of the last shred of hesitancy. “You know you don’t have to do this.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything,” Ondolemar assured him, his green eyes piercing.

“Then yes,” Ryndoril said at once. “Of course, Ondolemar.” 

Ryndoril was sure he’d never seen Ondolemar’s face light up like it did at that moment, and though he wasn’t sure he wasn’t still dreaming, he couldn’t have been happier. A second later, his lips were covered by the Altmer’s. 

Ondolemar for the rest of his life would’ve suited him just fine…but to actually marry him! It was more than he’d ever dreamed. And knowing he had his whole life ahead of him – he no longer had to worry about Alduin or any prophecy hanging over his head – it was like a dream.

“I love you,” Ondolemar said fiercely as they pulled apart, each breathing heavily. “I love you so much, Ryndoril, and I don’t tell you enough, but I do.” 

Ryndoril gave a sleepy chuckle, still not fully awake.

“I love you, too,” Ryndoril replied, stroking a finger along Ondolemar’s cheek. “Wow. I didn’t think I’d wake up to this,” he grinned. “Are you sure I’m not still asleep?”

“I don’t think so,” Ondolemar said, smiling back. “You have been most of the day, though. And I…ah…am sorry,” he added, ears still slightly red. “To do this as soon as you awoke. I didn’t…mean to do it that way.”

“I’m not complaining,” Ryndoril assured him. “Don’t apologize. I just…I can’t believe this is real,” he added with a small chuckle. He sat up then, stretching and looking around. “Any food left around here?” he asked eagerly. “I’m starving.”

“I’ll find something,” Ondolemar promised at once. “Ryn – are you sure you’re alright?”

“I promise, I’m fine, my love,” Ryndoril said, squeezing Ondolemar’s hand. “Still just tired, but I’m fine. I’ll explain everything over dinner, how does that sound?”

“Good,” Ondolemar nodded. “You get cleaned up, and I’ll find dinner.”

*****

“Before you begin,” Ondolemar said as the pair sat down to steaming bowls of stew that Ondolemar had purchased from the innkeeper, “Lydia stopped by earlier today. I assured her I would tell you that she wished to see you.”

“Oh,” Ryndoril said, surprised. He hadn’t even thought about anyone else yet. “I don’t know if I’m really up to – “

“I told her I would inform you and let you see her on your own terms,” Ondolemar said. “I told her that you were exhausted and needed to recover.”

“Thank you,” Ryndoril breathed gratefully, digging into his stew. 

Ondolemar allowed him a few mouthfuls before he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

“So what happened?” he asked, excited. “How did you do it, Ryn? I’m dying to know everything.” 

Ryndoril laughed, slowing his eating a bit to answer the Altmer.

Ryndoril talked all through dinner and for some time after; there was so much to tell Ondolemar, and he liked the Altmer’s reactions too much to leave anything out. Ondolemar was a captive audience, and Ryndoril got really into the storytelling.

Words couldn’t do justice to the feeling of flying through the sky, clinging to the back of a dragon, but he did his best. Ondolemar was appropriately awed anyway. 

He described the waterfalls at Skuldafn, the pure, clean, untouched water so high in the mountains. It had been quite beautiful, and he could tell Ondolemar was a little jealous that he didn’t get to see it, too.

Ryndoril went on to tell all about his trip through the temple, of all the terrible draugr he’d had to fight, of how difficult it’d been – and how much he’d missed having Ondolemar at his back.

“I think I’ve fought enough draugr for a long while, at any rate,” he laughed, even as Ondolemar still looked worried.

“How are you uninjured, then?” Ondolemar wanted to know. He couldn’t find a trace of any injury on the Bosmer, but it sounded like he’d fought for his very life.

“I think it was something to do with Sovngarde,” Ryndoril told him. “It’s all I can think of. Because once I got there…I felt fine. Energized, even, which was really strange considering I was so tired from all the fighting.” He stopped to take a drink of the wine that Ondolemar had procured for him. “But I made it anyway, and I came out onto this porch-like thing. I could see the portal – it was pretty obvious. There was something guarding it – I think it was one of the old dragon priests, have you heard of them? – but I managed to kill it before it even saw me.” 

Ondolemar shook his head with a slight chuckle.

“Only you, Ryn,” he said. “You really are incredible sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?” Ryndoril said, pretending to be insulted. 

Ondolemar simply rolled his eyes.

“Continue, please,” the Altmer said pointedly, and Ryndoril grinned at him.

“Well, once I killed him, I was facing this portal,” Ryndoril said. “And Auri-El, Ondolemar, it was terrifying. It was just this…void. This really loud, magical, extremely powerful void. But I knew that’s what I’d come for…so in I went.”

“Wow,” Ondolemar breathed, eyes wide.

“It was a weird sensation, like I was falling, almost. It’s hard to describe. But then all at once…I was in Sovngarde. And gods, it was amazing,” he said. “I don’t think I could do it justice. It was like the night sky, with the auroras? But…more.” He paused, struggling to find the words. “It was beautiful,” he finished lamely. “I can’t say it better than that.”

“So what _happened_?” Ondolemar asked, far less concerned about the beauty of the place than what actually occurred. 

Ryndoril chuckled and went on, describing his trip through the valley to the Hall of Valor, and telling how he’d fought Tsun and been deemed worthy to enter the Hall.

“It was nothing like I imagined eternity,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “But I can see why the Nords like it. It was a lot like the Companions’ mead hall,” he added. “Just…enormous.” He grinned as he saw Ondolemar make a face at the mention of the Companions. “You’ll love this,” he went on. “Guess who I met there?”

“Some Nord hero, I’m sure,” Ondolemar said, wrinkling his nose. “Should I care?”

“Ysgramor,” Ryndoril said, barely containing a laugh. 

Ondolemar’s eyes widened in shock.

“You’re joking,” he said. “Really?”

“Really,” Ryndoril confirmed. “He was the one who came up to me at the door and greeted me when I walked in. It was…really weird.”

“I’ll say,” Ondolemar replied, shaking his head.

The story continued, Ryndoril explaining about gathering together with the Tongues and proceeding to fight Alduin. 

Ondolemar’s mouth actually dropped open as Ryndoril described Alduin’s death, the way the dragon all but dissolved in front of them, exploding into fragments.

“So you did it,” Ondolemar murmured, staring at Ryndoril in awe. “You actually did it. You defeated Alduin. You killed the World-Eater, once and for all.”

“I did,” Ryndoril nodded. “It still feels…kind of strange. It was something I’ve known about for so long now, and knowing that I did it…that it’s over…”

“Ryndoril, you are amazing,” Ondolemar said, grabbing the Bosmer’s hand and squeezing it. “I can’t even tell you…I’m…very proud of you.” 

Ryndoril beamed at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“Thanks, love,” he murmured, squeezing the Altmer’s hand in return. “It really means a lot, you know.” 

“So that was it? It was over? And you came back?” Ondolemar asked.

“Yeah,” Ryndoril said. “It was over. Tsun Shouted at me and it sent me back…I went to the Throat of the World and talked to Paarthurnax a little, actually,” he added. “But I was so exhausted. Tsun told me before I came back that it’d be like that, but it was still worse than I expected. Luckily for me, Odahviing was there too, and was feeling generous I guess,” he added with a laugh. “So I convinced him to bring me back to Whiterun, and I managed to get down here…and finally got to see you again.” 

As he finished, Ondolemar pulled on Ryndoril’s hand, tugging the Bosmer over into his lap where he wrapped him in his arms.

“I missed you, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, holding the smaller elf close. “I’m so glad you came back to me.”

“Always will, love,” Ryndoril said softly, snuggling into Ondolemar’s arms. “Always will.” He yawned widely then, already feeling tired again after all that talking. “Would you hate me if I went back to sleep again now?” 

Ondolemar chuckled, squeezing Ryndoril.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” he promised, kissing Ryndoril’s forehead. “Please, rest all you need. You’ve saved the world; I think you’ve earned however much sleep you like.” 

Ryndoril laughed at that, reluctantly getting off the Altmer’s lap.

“You’ll stay with me though, right?” he asked as he headed for the stairs.

“You couldn’t force me to leave your side,” Ondolemar informed him, his ears reddening slightly at the admission.

They headed upstairs, readying themselves for bed once more, Ryndoril snuggling close into Ondolemar’s embrace as they lay under the blankets together.

“Ondolemar?” Ryndoril asked sleepily a little while later.

“Hmm?” Ondolemar prompted, stroking Ryndoril’s hair. He’d thought the Bosmer was asleep.

“This…marriage thing,” Ryndoril said hesitantly. “Is this because I’m a hero now, and… _acceptable_?” He’d not been able to stop thinking about it as he lay there, tired as he was.

“What?” Ondolemar asked, shocked. “Of course not!”

“Are you sure?” Ryndoril asked, sounding vulnerable even to his own tired ears. “I mean…I know you didn’t want to before…”

“Ryndoril,” Ondolemar said firmly, squeezing the elf’s shoulders, “of _course_ I’m sure. It…wasn’t that I didn’t _want_ to,” he added, wanting to explain himself. “And at any rate, you’re certainly not ‘acceptable’,” he continued with a derisive snort. “A Bosmer, and a male to boot? Dragonborn or not, there’s nothing that would change there.” 

Ryndoril managed a smile.

“Are you still sure this is what you want, love?” he asked softly, craning his neck to look up into Ondolemar’s eyes. “I love you, but if this is such a problem…” 

Ondolemar closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

“I _do_ want this,” he assured the elf. “But the truth is…it will have to be kept quiet.” He’d been thinking about it a bit since his impulsive proposal, and he knew that the circumstances were less than ideal. “I know it isn’t fair to you. I’m sorry for that. If…if you’d rather not, I understand.”

“I don’t care much about what’s ‘fair’,” Ryndoril murmured, bringing a hand up to Ondolemar’s cheek, making the Altmer open his eyes again. “I’ll be happy to be married to you, even if I’m the only one that knows it. I understand too, you know. I don’t want you to be in danger.” 

Ondolemar bent his head down and kissed Ryndoril, pulling him closer.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, Ryndoril,” he said softly, gazing lovingly at him. “But praise Auri-El for bringing you into my life.” 

Ryndoril smiled sleepily, content with that answer, and was finally able to fall asleep.

*****

Though Ondolemar was keen to make this marriage happen, he was all too aware of Ryndoril’s continuing tiredness. They decided to wait a day before leaving Whiterun to go to Riften. Ondolemar was agreeable, especially since, as Ryndoril kept reminding him, they had all the time in the world now. For the first time since finding out about his destiny, Ryndoril had nothing hanging over his head, nothing he had to go and do.

Lunch the next day found the Bosmer heading for the inn, Ondolemar at his side. He wanted to see Lydia, as Ondolemar had promised he would, but more than that, he was eager to see his friends and tell them what had happened. He was sure the rest of Whiterun would be curious as well, so he figured he might as well tell it all at once.

He didn’t know how right he was; once word got out that he was at the inn for lunch, practically the entire city started to come in. He was sure he’d never seen the place so full. Ondolemar, to his credit, stayed by Ryndoril’s side; the Bosmer knew he didn’t like the crowd full of Nords (though Heimskr, at least, wasn’t around.) 

Ryndoril told his story, but quickly felt worn out; it seemed it would take time to recover from the exhaustion. Despite pleas for him to stay, he insisted on going back to his house; he assured Lydia and Argis they were welcome to return, too, if they wanted. Lydia, with a look at Ondolemar, said they were perfectly content remaining at the inn for the time being.

Ondolemar took some time in the afternoon to write a letter to Nyslian; he knew it was his duty to inform her that the dragon threat had been conquered.

“You make it all sound very formal,” Ryndoril laughed, reading over the letter. “You don’t mention once that I spent half my journey covered in blood.”

“It’s a report, not a social letter,” Ondolemar snorted in amusement. “We’ll visit the Embassy again soon enough, and you can tell your…er…heroic tale however you wish in person.”

“Sounds good to me,” Ryndoril said, his face lighting up. He’d very much like to see Nyslian in person again and tell her about everything.

“Would you like to have your housecarls attend our wedding?” Ondolemar asked as the pair lay in bed that night, resting. 

Ryndoril looked up at him, surprised.

“Could I?” he asked skeptically. “You didn’t want anyone to know about us.” 

Ondolemar frowned.

“They already know of our relationship, do they not?” Ondolemar pointed out. “This would hardly make much difference. I presume they wouldn’t go running to Alinor to tell everyone about our marriage, after all.”

“Well, no,” he agreed. He thought for a moment. “Well…I mean…yeah, I think it’d be nice to have them there,” he confessed. “They are my friends, after all. And they…don’t hate you.”

“Then I wish for you to invite them,” Ondolemar said simply, stroking a lock of Ryndoril’s hair. “They are important to you…and you are important to me. They should attend.” 

Ryndoril smiled at him.

“I appreciate it, love,” he murmured. “Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Ondolemar said. “You doubt me so often.” 

Ryndoril laughed at his disgruntled tone.

“I don’t mean to doubt you,” Ryndoril assured him, taking his hand and squeezing it. “I just don’t want you to regret…anything.” 

Ondolemar stared at him for a moment.

“I have no regrets,” Ondolemar said softly, making Ryndoril smile. “Do not be afraid that I will regret this, my love. I do not…and I will not. I wish to marry you.”

“Okay. I’ll tell Lydia and Argis, and they can keep it to themselves.” Ryndoril paused in thought for a moment. “What about Nyslian? It seems like you should have someone there, too.”

Ondolemar gave a slight smirk.

“You are all I need there,” he replied. “And anyway, how long will it take to get a letter to her and await her response? I don’t wish to put this off, you know.”

“Me, either,” Ryndoril grinned. “Okay, fair point. Do you plan to tell her, at least?”

“I’m not sure,” Ondolemar replied with a small sigh. “I shall see what happens. For now…just Lydia and Argis. Alright?”

“Fine by me,” Ryndoril smiled, and cuddled in next to the Altmer.


	12. Chapter 12

Ryndoril opened the door to Honeyside, snorting in amused surprise as he saw his kitchen table surrounded by most of the Guild.

“You know, I let you guys use this as a safe house for _quick escapes_ ,” he reminded them as they all turned to look. He recognized most of the faces, but realized there were at least two new ones – the Guild was growing, then. That was good news.

“Well, we did have to escape,” Thrynn grinned. “We were escaping from Bryn and Karliah.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say, for Nightingales, they’re not very… _stealthy_ ,” Sapphire said, rolling her eyes. “Hey, Ryndoril. Good to see you again.” 

“Hey, Saph,” Ryndoril grinned at her. “So, they finally got together?”

“Yeah,” she said dryly. “And the rest of us are wishing they were still dancing around each other.”

“I can’t blame you for breaking in, then,” Ryndoril laughed. 

He saw Rune, Etienne, and Vipir sitting around the table, along with Sapphire, Thrynn, and the two new faces. They were all staring curiously behind him – all except Rune, who seemed to be studiously avoiding looking in Ryndoril’s direction at all.

“Who’s your friend?” Etienne asked, nodding toward Ondolemar. 

Ryndoril turned to see the Altmer looking quite uncomfortable.

“This is Ondolemar,” Ryndoril smiled. “Commander of the Thalmor, and my – “ he broke off, glancing back at Ondolemar for a moment. He’d been about to say “soon-to-be husband”, but then realized that would go against what he’d promised the Altmer; he was supposed to keep quiet. “My current traveling companion,” he finished hastily, hoping no one had noticed.

“Thalmor, eh?” Thrynn said, raising an eyebrow. “Never expected a Thalmor inquisition around here.”

“No, no,” Ryndoril hurried to assure them. “He’s not here for that. Who’re the new faces?”

“This is Garthar,” Sapphire said, pointing at a muscled man sitting next to Thrynn, who was large but not quite as big as the ex-bandit, “and this is Lana,” she added, putting her arm around the female Bosmer next to her. “This is our Guild Second,” she added with a smirk at Ryndoril. “You’d never know it, since he’s never _here_.”

“Hey,” Ryndoril replied defensively. “I’ve had a lot going on!”

“No kidding, _Dragonborn_ ,” Etienne laughed. “The rumors true, then? Did you really defeat Alduin?”

“News travels fast,” Ryndoril replied wryly. “Yes, it’s true. You’re looking at the Alduin-Vanquisher.” Several of them laughed. 

Ryndoril realized Ondolemar still hadn’t said anything; he wasn’t that surprised, as the Altmer tended to be quiet in these situations, but figured he ought to get somewhere and explain. He didn’t know if Ondolemar would be upset about this; he knew he was less than fond of the Thieves Guild, after all. 

“Well, fine, you guys can stay here if you want, but you’re going to have to clear out tonight; I’m in town for a couple of days and I want to sleep in my own house,” Ryndoril informed them all.

There was some good-natured grumbling that made Ryndoril grin – he’d missed his Guild friends. He motioned for Ondolemar to follow him, and they walked down the stairs away from listening ears.

“Hey,” Ryndoril said softly, looking worriedly at Ondolemar’s stony face. “Sorry about that – I didn’t know they’d be here. Are you…angry?”

“Your traveling companion?” Ondolemar asked, and Ryndoril could hear the hurt in his voice. “Really?”

“Oh, love,” Ryndoril said, letting out a relieved breath and putting his hand on Ondolemar’s arm. “You told me I’m not supposed to let anyone find out about us, remember?” Ondolemar’s face softened a little with understanding. “If I had my way, I’d shout to the world that I’m going to marry you, you know. I nearly introduced you as my almost-husband.”

“I see,” Ondolemar murmured apologetically. “I’m sorry, Ryndoril. Are you terribly frustrated with me for making this so difficult?”

“Not at all,” Ryndoril assured him, bringing Ondolemar’s hand to his lips and kissing it gently. “You know all I want is to be with you. I understand – it’s not like you’re ashamed of me. It’s dangerous for you, if this gets out. I don’t want you to be in danger, love.” 

Ondolemar sighed, stroking Ryndoril’s cheek.

“I understand. And…I suppose I do appreciate you being so careful up there,” he added. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril smiled, turning his head to kiss Ondolemar’s palm. “Are you angry about the people upstairs?” 

“Should I be?” Ondolemar asked, looking at Ryndoril skeptically. “It’s _your_ house.”

“Yeah, but…I know how you feel about the Guild,” Ryndoril replied, feeling slightly guilty. “And Rune was there, too.”

“Ah,” Ondolemar said, contemplating for a moment. But he shook his head. “I probably ought to be annoyed. I probably ought to have them arrested, actually,” he snorted. “But…knowing _you_ as I do…how could I be? At least they seem to be kind to you.”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril smiled, pleased at the Altmer’s new view on the Guild. “They are. It’s a lot different from the Companions.” 

“I should hope so,” Ondolemar replied dryly. “At any rate…I am your _traveling_ _companion_ , as you so rightly stated,” he added with a grin, and Ryndoril laughed. “It is your home, and your friends…are alright with me.”

“I’m glad,” Ryndoril said. “You can talk to them, you know,” he added teasingly.

“I don’t know any of them,” Ondolemar replied.

“You’re a military commander,” Ryndoril laughed. “Why should that matter? You can’t tell me you’re not used to talking to people you barely know.”

“It’s different,” Ondolemar said uncomfortably. “They…are not in my command. It isn’t as though I’m ordering them around, or issuing directives.” 

Ryndoril smiled understandingly, pulling at a lock of Ondolemar’s hair. He found it kind of funny, really; he spent all this time around Ondolemar, and had gotten him out of his shell so long ago, that he had trouble remembering how unsure and unsocial the elf really was around most others. Ondolemar had no trouble talking to Ryndoril himself now, and was comfortable around those at the Embassy. But around people in an unfamiliar situation? It was a good bit different.

“That’s okay,” he said. “But I promise, they don’t bite. If you want to stay away, though, I understand.”

“No, it’s…it’s alright,” Ondolemar said uncertainly. “I…would be interested in getting to know your friends.” 

Ryndoril smiled delightedly.

“Really?” he asked. “Even if some of them are Nords?” 

Ondolemar couldn’t help himself; he laughed at the teasing.

“Yes, even then,” he said. “I didn’t say _I_ wanted to become friends with them. But you clearly enjoy their company…and I would not presume to deprive you of it. If you like them…they can’t be _that_ insufferable.”

“It’s sweet of you to trust me,” Ryndoril teased. “Come on, then. They’ll get a little suspicious if we stay down here, I think.”

“Indeed,” Ondolemar chuckled, and followed Ryndoril up the stairs.

Ryndoril noticed Rune had gone; he wasn’t surprised, and didn’t comment. He had long gotten over the Imperial thief, but if Rune didn’t want to be around him, he wouldn’t force it.

“Here, have a seat,” Sapphire said as the two elves entered the room. Rune’s seat was empty, and Sapphire pulled Lana into her own lap as the Bosmer giggled, leaving two empty chairs. 

Ryndoril grinned at them as he sat, glad Sapphire seemed to have found someone she liked so well.

“What brings you to town?” Etienne asked, taking a drink from the tankard in front of him.

“Can’t I check up on my Guild now and then?” Ryndoril asked with a grin.

“Yeah, because you do _that_ so often,” Sapphire snorted. “Are you hanging around this time?”

“Not for very long, no,” Ryndoril replied. “Sorry, everyone.”

“I swear, Delvin’s right; you’ve gone clean on us,” Vipir accused.

“Mostly,” Ryndoril laughed. “You know how it is. Life happens, dragons are slain, and there just isn’t as much time for sneaking around in shadows.”

“If you’re not staying, why _are_ you in town?” Etienne asked again. “You don’t often come around for nothing.”

“Just – ah – taking care of some business,” Ryndoril said, glancing at Ondolemar before he could stop himself. There was some snickering around the table, and Ryndoril felt his ears turn red. “I was actually wanting to talk to Delvin about – “

“He is getting married,” Ondolemar interrupted, glaring defiantly at the snickering people. “That’s why he’s come to town.” 

Ryndoril stared at him, open-mouthed.

“Ondolemar,” he murmured, shocked. “What are you – “

“They are your friends, and your friends...should know about such happy occasions,” Ondolemar said, hesitant yet firm. “Your housecarls are coming, after all. I presume your friends know better than to go talking about it.”

“Of course,” Ryndoril agreed, looking around at them all. “Not if I ask them not to. Right?” They all put in their agreement.

“Not at all,” Etienne said seriously. “You know us. We watch our own.” The others nodded.

“So…as if I even need to ask…who is it?” Sapphire spoke up wryly. 

Ryndoril reddened further – had he been that obvious?

“Er…well…” Ryndoril looked at Ondolemar for confirmation, and the Altmer nodded, looking apprehensive but determined. “It’s Ondolemar,” he finished, taking the Altmer’s hand. “We’re getting married tomorrow, over at the temple. We already talked to Maramal.”

“Traveling companion,” Vipir snorted. “Indeed.” The rest laughed.

“Congratulations,” Etienne grinned at them.

“We’re coming,” Sapphire put in, grinning as well. “All of us. I’ll even tear Karliah off of Bryn long enough for it.” 

Ryndoril laughed, relaxing, and squeezed Ondolemar’s hand. He hadn’t given much thought to the idea, but he realized now that it really meant a lot to him for his friends to know, and to be part of it. He may not have had time to be around them a lot lately, but he still really liked his Guild, and they meant quite as much to him as Lydia or Argis.

“Thanks, everyone,” Ryndoril smiled. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that Ondolemar looked even more smug than usual. “It’ll be great to have you there.”

“And party after in the Flagon,” Vipir threw in.

“Are you sure that’d be okay?” Ryndoril asked, motioning to Ondolemar again. “I mean, thanks, but I don’t know if Brynjolf would – “

“We’re talking about the Guild Second’s husband,” Sapphire said, rolling her eyes. “I really think it’s okay to bring him to the Flagon.” 

Ryndoril couldn’t help grinning broadly at the word “husband”. 

“Well, then, I guess we don’t have much choice,” Ryndoril laughed, hoping Ondolemar would be alright with it. 

The Altmer seemed to be quite content, actually; he looked almost buoyant. Perhaps the word “husband” had had a similar effect on him.

The evening went on, a few people going out to bring back something to eat as the house wasn’t usually stocked. 

Ondolemar managed to relax, and even started to enjoy himself somewhat, though he was still rather quiet. He was pleased, however, to see Ryndoril so happy and content. Whatever made that happen could only be a good thing.

Later that night, Thrynn got up and motioned to Ryndoril.

“Can I talk to you for a minute?” he asked, nodding toward the door outside. 

Ryndoril, who had barely let go of Ondolemar’s hand all night, glanced anxiously at the Altmer, making Sapphire snort.

“We’re not going to kill and eat him,” she scoffed at the Bosmer. 

Ryndoril grinned, but looked questioningly at Ondolemar.

“Go on,” the elf replied with a smirk. “I _can_ handle myself, you know.” 

Ryndoril reasoned that the Altmer was, of course, very talented, and he was sure the others didn’t mean him any harm. They were Ryndoril’s friends, after all, and wouldn’t do such a thing to him. So he followed Thrynn curiously, wondering what the large thief could want.

“So,” Thrynn said, crossing his arms and staring at Ryndoril after the door closed. “A Thalmor, huh?” 

Ryndoril frowned, staring back at Thrynn defensively.

“Yes, a Thalmor,” he replied. “Look, I’m not asking you to like him, I understand, but he’s – “ 

Thrynn waved him off.

“Of course I don’t _like_ him,” Thrynn said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to _like_ a Thalmor. But I don’t care about that. All we care about is – does he treat you good?” 

Ryndoril stared at him, surprised.

“Of course he does,” he replied softly. “What – why would you - ?”

“You’re family,” Thrynn told him seriously. “I – all of us – care about you. No one was happy about what Rune did. We all thought he’d told you.” 

Ryndoril was even more surprised at this – the only one who’d talked to him about the entire thing aside from Etienne had been Sapphire, and it was to apologize for her own role in the thing. No one else had ever mentioned it.

“It’s okay,” Ryndoril said, still not entirely sure where this was going. “I – well, I didn’t know that, but I appreciate knowing it. But what does that have to do with Ondolemar?”

“We’re not going to let someone hurt you,” Thrynn replied. “We don’t know this guy. Now, the Guild can’t really judge anyone for what they do, but we all know the Thalmor are bad news. Rumor has it things have improved since that Elenwen got killed, but none of us are going to just take it on faith that he’s good.” 

It finally clicked – Thrynn, speaking for the Guild, was intent on protecting him. Warmth spread through him at that. He knew he had friends in the Guild – and other places too, for that matter – but for people to care about him like _this_? Like _family_? He had to say, he hadn’t expected it. He grinned widely at Thrynn.

“Thank you,” he said feelingly. “I appreciate that, Thrynn. But I promise you…he’s good to me. He’s not going to hurt me. I know you don’t know him, but I’ve been around him nearly a year. You don’t have anything to worry about. And if it helps,” he added, “he’s the one who killed Elenwen. And saved my life.” 

Thrynn looked mildly, if grudgingly, impressed.

“Alright,” he nodded. “Just as long as you know, we’ve got your back if you need us. All of us.”

“I know,” Ryndoril smiled. “And it means a lot to me.” 

Thrynn clapped him on the shoulder – the man’s size and stature compared to Ryndoril’s meant this sent him stumbling slightly – and the two walked back inside. 

Ryndoril was pleased to see that nothing had changed, and although Ondolemar sat as quietly as ever, everything seemed to be just fine. 

It was late when Ryndoril finally made the rest of the Guild leave, wanting little more than to get a bit of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ondolemar Is An Awkward Penguin


	13. Chapter 13

The wedding ceremony was short and sweet, which was exactly what they preferred. They entered the temple hand-in-hand, and Ryndoril was sure he’d never seen Ondolemar smiling so hugely before. The Bosmer was giddy, and the Altmer was quite smug. Ryndoril wore a set of fine clothes in dark green, along with the emerald amulet Ondolemar had given him, and Ondolemar wore black robes with gold trim – reminiscent of his Thalmor robes, though he hadn’t felt it appropriate to wear those for such an occasion.

“Do you agree to be bound together in love, now and forever?” Maramal asked Ryndoril, after welcoming everyone to the celebration.

“I do, now and forever,” Ryndoril grinned at Ondolemar.

“And you,” Maramal continued, turning to Ondolemar. “Do you agree to be bound together in love, now and forever?”

“I do, now and forever,” Ondolemar replied, his cocky tone making Ryndoril laugh quietly.

“I now present you with these rings, blessed by Mara’s divine grace. May they protect each of you in your new life together,” Maramal said, handing each of the elves a ring. 

They exchanged them, gently sliding the bands onto one another’s fingers. Along with the blessing the priest had bestowed upon them, Ondolemar had enchanted each band carefully to provide strong protection.

“Under the authority of Mara, the Divine of Love, I declare this couple to be wed,” Maramal finished, smiling at the couple. 

Grinning, Ryndoril pulled Ondolemar down to him, kissing him hard. The people gathered there – a number of the Guild, plus Lydia and Argis – applauded, and then it was over.

“I love you,” Ryndoril said happily, holding Ondolemar’s hand as they left the temple again. 

Ondolemar chuckled.

“You just married me, so I should hope so,” he replied. 

Ryndoril laughed, happier than he could ever remember.

*****

Ondolemar went willingly enough with Ryndoril to the party in the Ragged Flagon; he wasn’t at all interested in it, and given his preference he wouldn’t have bothered, but he knew it was important to Ryndoril. He didn’t care for the journey, nor the way the place smelled. The people were friendly enough, he supposed, but mostly they left him alone, which suited him just fine. It made him happy, at least, to see Ryndoril so happy – and that was good enough for him.

“Is everything alright, love?” Ryndoril asked after a couple of hours, coming over and planting himself on Ondolemar’s lap. 

The Altmer smiled up at him.

“Of course it is,” he insisted. “Are you having fun?”

“I would be, but I can’t help noticing you sitting over here in seclusion,” Ryndoril teased, kissing his cheek. “What’s the matter? No one’s being rude to you, are they?”

“Surprisingly enough, no,” Ondolemar replied dryly, squeezing Ryndoril gently. “It’s fine, Ryn, I promise. They are _your_ friends; I have little to say to any of them.”

“Ah,” Ryndoril said, understanding dawning on him. Of course the Altmer wouldn’t be having much fun. He didn’t _know_ anyone. “Then let’s get out of here.”

“Ryn, no,” Ondolemar said, shaking his head. “Really, it’s fine; you should have fun with those you care about.”

“What I care about is my _husband_ ,” Ryndoril grinned, pressing his forehead to Ondolemar’s. “And I think if I should be having fun with anyone on my wedding day, it’s him.” Ondolemar smiled. “Come on, love. Let’s go.”

“Thank you,” Ondolemar said, still feeling slightly guilty but trying to ignore it. Ryndoril was right, after all; they should be spending time together.

Ryndoril said goodbye to everyone and then headed up to Honeyside, hand in hand with Ondolemar.

*****

Ondolemar stoked the fire in the fireplace, ensuring the house would stay cozy and warm for the two of them. Ryndoril was rummaging around in a chest near the bed, but Ondolemar didn’t pay much attention to it.

“Aha!” Ryndoril finally exclaimed, and Ondolemar turned to see the Bosmer holding up a bottle triumphantly. “Happy wedding, love,” Ryndoril grinned, handing the bottle to Ondolemar, who laughed as he took it.

“And just when did you get this, I must ask?” Ondolemar wondered, turning the bottle around to look at the label. “Colovian brandy,” he murmured, glancing up at Ryndoril. “How – “

“The Guild,” Ryndoril winked, his eyes twinkling happily. “I worked out something with the Khajiit caravans to bring me some when they found it. If I’m not around…Brynjolf brings it here for me to pick up.” 

Ondolemar smiled softly, crossing over to Ryndoril and pulling him into an embrace.

“You’re terribly thoughtful, my love,” he informed the Bosmer.

“I try,” Ryndoril smiled up at him. “Want to share it on the bed?”

“Alright,” Ondolemar readily agreed.

Ryndoril made sure the doors were tightly locked; he knew the Guild knew better than to bother him tonight, but didn’t want to take any chances. As he turned back to the bed, he saw Ondolemar had made himself comfortable in his trousers…and nothing else. He grinned.

“I really like that view,” he commented, beginning to undress as well.

Ondolemar smiled as he watched him.

“I hope you intend to do more than ‘view’,” he informed the Bosmer, and Ryndoril laughed.

“Oh, believe me, I do,” he assured his lover, crawling into the bed beside him. 

Ryndoril leaned over, lowering his head for a kiss, and Ondolemar obliged; their lips met gently for a moment, but neither had the patience to remain gentle. The brandy already forgotten on the bedside table, Ondolemar wrapped his arms around Ryndoril, holding him tightly as their kiss became fierce, desperate.

Ryndoril wriggled over and moved his legs so he was straddling Ondolemar, his hair falling around their faces as the impassioned kisses continued. Ondolemar’s hands roved over Ryndoril’s bare skin, sliding down until they were gripping his cloth-covered ass and giving it a squeeze.

Ryndoril groaned and slid his hips up, just enough to tease the Altmer; it worked, because Ondolemar groaned in turn and thrust up into Ryndoril.

“Oh, Ryn,” Ondolemar murmured, his voice rough already, “I want you. I want you so badly.”

“Then take me,” Ryndoril said, a wicked grin on his face. “I’m all yours, my love.”

With a fiercely possessive growl, Ondolemar pulled Ryndoril’s head down to his for another harsh kiss. Ryndoril pushed against the Altmer’s bare chest after a moment, bringing himself up to a sitting position.

“Might be easier without these,” he teased breathlessly, pulling at the waist of Ondolemar’s trousers. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all,” Ondolemar smirked, lying back to watch the Bosmer undress for him.

To his surprise, however, Ryndoril simply backed up, moving off of Ondolemar’s legs, but leaned down to kiss his bare stomach. Ondolemar jumped at the sensation; it almost tickled, but it felt wonderful. 

The next moment, Ryndoril’s quick fingers were untying the trouser laces and as he pulled the cloth down, he traced a line of newly-bared skin with his tongue. Ondolemar groaned, shuddering at the feel of the Bosmer’s soft tongue on him.

Ryndoril finished pulling off the trousers completely, then knelt once more to place a soft, teasing kiss on the tip of Ondolemar’s quite-eager cock. 

“Fuck,” Ondolemar breathed, making Ryndoril grin. 

“What do you want tonight?” Ryndoril asked softly, stroking Ondolemar’s bare thigh. 

Absurd, Ondolemar thought, that the Bosmer expected him to form a coherent answer like _this_.

“You,” Ondolemar choked out. “Want – to feel you. Take you. _F-fuck you_ ,” he groaned as Ryndoril drew a finger across his inner thigh.

“Thank Auri-El,” Ryndoril breathed, wasting no time in stripping off his own trousers and throwing them to the side. “Because I need you to, love.”

He fell upon Ondolemar once more, kissing him hard as Ondolemar’s arms came up to envelop him. With all their skin bared, their kisses were interrupted with grunts and moans of longing. Ryndoril thrust his hips as well as he could in his position, and it took barely a heartbeat for Ondolemar to decide he’d had enough.

With strength that took Ryndoril’s breath away, Ondolemar flipped the two of them over, kneeling between Ryndoril’s spread legs. 

He took a moment to admire him, his new husband; never in his life had he expected to be able to think of such a thing, let alone experience it. A powerful emotion swept through him as he gazed down at Ryndoril.

“I love you,” he breathed, his voice desperate.

Ryndoril grinned up at him, pleased.

“I love you, too,” Ryndoril replied, reaching up to stroke a few fingers down Ondolemar’s stomach before grasping his cock and giving it a stroke, making Ondolemar shout. “Now get to it.”

Ondolemar breathed a shaky laugh at the command, reaching for the oil on the bedside table.

Ryndoril watched eagerly as Ondolemar spread the oil over his fingers, impatient for the Altmer. He enjoyed it when they took their time, but he was in no mood for that tonight; he needed this, he needed to feel his lover – his husband – taking him. 

“Unngghhh…fuck, yes,” Ryndoril groaned as Ondolemar, fingers slick, reached between the Bosmer’s legs to the tight opening. His long fingers circled the puckered hole for just a few moments, making Ryndoril writhe, before gently inserting a finger, then two.

“Auri-El, Ryn,” Ondolemar breathed, delighting in watching the Bosmer’s pleasure. He took just as long as necessary to stretch the smaller elf and get him ready; he was too eager for more to put it off.

“Ondolemar…” Ryndoril whimpered, his eyes pleading with the Altmer. “Please…love…”

“Alright,” Ondolemar answered in a strangled voice. He fumbled for more of the oil and coated himself in it; it was made a little difficult by the fact that he was so eager his cock kept twitching out of his slickened grip.

Adjusting himself between Ryndoril’s legs, staring hard into the Bosmer’s eyes, Ondolemar began to press himself into the smaller elf. The two let out identical groans until Ondolemar was fully sheathed inside Ryndoril, and the Altmer paused for just a moment. He leaned down and kissed Ryndoril, bringing his clean hand up to stroke the Bosmer’s face.

“Gods, I’ve needed you,” Ryndoril whispered against Ondolemar’s lips, bringing a free hand up to grasp the Altmer’s head, running his fingers through the golden hair. Ondolemar shuddered as Ryndoril’s fingers found his pointed ear, stroking it lovingly and prompting Ondolemar to move again.

Ondolemar thrust his hips, moving inside Ryndoril until they were both panting. Ryndoril grasped at Ondolemar’s back with one hand, the other relentlessly caressing the Altmer’s pointed ear. He couldn’t stop whimpering; feeling the Altmer inside him was too delicious.

Finally Ondolemar seemed to understand his incoherent pleas for more, because the Altmer reached between them to take Ryndoril’s cock in hand, stroking it in rhythm with his thrusts.

“Oh, fuck, love,” Ryndoril groaned, convulsing. “I’m not going to last if you keep – _ahhhh_ – doing that.”

“Good,” Ondolemar growled, moving his hips and his hand faster. “I just want this…to be good,” Ondolemar groaned. “ _Fuck_. Good for you. For _us_. Ahhh…”

True to his warning, Ryndoril tightened around Ondolemar, crying out as his release hit him hard. With the added pressure around his cock, Ondolemar wasn’t far behind, calling out Ryndoril’s name as he spilled inside the Bosmer.

Both elves had been almost taken by surprise at their sudden release, and for a few moments, they simply clung to one another, attempting to catch their breath.

“Gods,” Ryndoril finally managed with a small chuckle. “You’re amazing, love.”

“And so are you,” Ondolemar said with a grin, bending his head to kiss the Bosmer.

He gently pulled out of the smaller elf, retrieving a spare linen from by the bed to clean them both up a little. Ryndoril smiled at him.

“Usually it’s me doing that,” he remarked.

“Yes, but I can be useful, too,” Ondolemar teased.

“I know,” Ryndoril chuckled, taking Ondolemar’s hand. “Thanks, love.”

Ondolemar laid down beside Ryndoril, pulling the elf into his arms as Ryndoril covered them with the blanket on the bed.

“It’s odd, isn’t it?” Ondolemar commented with a yawn as Ryndoril stroked his chest absently.

“What’s that?” Ryndoril questioned, highly content.

“How relaxing it is,” Ondolemar mused. “Nothing hanging over our heads. Nothing left to go and do, nothing we need to hurry up with.”

“Mmm,” Ryndoril agreed with a grin. “It is relaxing. And I’ll happily take all the time in the world to relax with you.”

A few moments later, he heard the softest of snores from Ondolemar and glanced up, not entirely surprised to find the mer sleeping already. He tried not to giggle; he didn’t want to wake him. He just snuggled in closer, perfectly happy to spend as long as he wished in his husband’s arms. 

*****

Ryndoril awoke in the middle of the night, not having slept more than a few hours, to find Ondolemar whimpering next to him in his sleep. Frowning in concern, he shook the Altmer’s shoulder.

“Ondolemar?” he said, trying to wake him without startling him. “Love? Wake up, now.” It was odd; Ondolemar hardly ever had bad dreams like this. 

“Please don’t,” Ondolemar muttered. “Please…”

“Love, come on,” Ryndoril said louder, shaking him harder. “Wake up – you’re just dreaming.” 

A moment later, Ondolemar awoke with a sudden jerk back to consciousness.

“Ryn?” he muttered, his voice full of sleep as he looked around, unable to see anything in the dark room. “Ryn, are you here?”

“I’m right here, love,” Ryndoril assured him, caressing the side of his face. “What’s the matter? What were you dreaming about?” 

Ondolemar let out a relieved breath and pulled the Bosmer close to him, hugging him tight.

“Sorry,” he murmured into Ryndoril’s hair. “Thank you…for waking me.”

“Of course, love,” Ryndoril replied, squeezing him back. “What was that? Are you okay?”

“I’m…fine,” Ondolemar muttered. “Just…don’t worry about it. It’s…stupid.” 

This concerned Ryndoril further; the Altmer was only self-deprecating when he was upset.

“Tell me,” Ryndoril urged gently, rubbing his hand along Ondolemar’s back. “I don’t care if it’s stupid. Talk to me, love.” 

Ondolemar sighed, but he felt like he might as well tell Ryndoril about it.

“It’s ridiculous,” he said, “but…I dreamed that you got married. To Argis.” Ryndoril couldn’t help letting out a short laugh at that, though he tried not to. “Thanks for your sympathy,” Ondolemar said sarcastically.

“Hush,” Ryndoril said, squeezing Ondolemar gently. “I’m sorry, love, but it’s just _that_ crazy. You dreamed that I married _him_?”

“I know,” Ondolemar said, sounding upset. “It’s nonsensical. I can’t help it.” He breathed out again and continued. “You…you said it was too difficult, being with me. He was easier.” Ondolemar swallowed. “You didn’t have to be…hidden.” 

Ryndoril felt bad for laughing now.

“Oh, love,” he whispered, clinging to the elf. “I’m sorry. But you know none of that’s true, right? I don’t want to be with anyone else. To Oblivion with ‘easy’. And I don’t feel _hidden_ ,” he added. “I don’t care, Ondolemar. I’ve told you.”

“I know,” Ondolemar said softly, grateful at Ryndoril’s reassurances. “As I said…it was ridiculous.”

“Well, ridiculous or not, I’m sorry you had bad dreams, my love,” Ryndoril said. “And you don’t need to worry. I married _you_ …and I couldn’t be happier that I did,” he added, kissing Ondolemar’s chest. “You’re everything I need, love. Everything.”

“Thank you,” Ondolemar murmured, feeling a good bit better. It had been such a stupid dream anyway. He was in bed, with his loving husband…everything was just as he would wish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A wedding, some smut, and some comfort after a nightmare. Perfect chapter :P
> 
> Fun fact: the idea for the nightmare came because in-game, I actually *did* have Ryn marry Argis! The mod I used didn't allow for marrying Ondolemar, because the voice files aren't there, so I just had him marry Argis so I could move Argis into Breezhome with Lydia (and get the gameplay perks of marriage as well).


	14. Chapter 14

The day after the wedding, Ryndoril went out to the market to buy some food. Ondolemar had agreed to stay in Riften for a few days, as they had nowhere particularly pressing to be, and Ryndoril wanted to discuss something with a few of the Guild members.

He was keeping it under wraps, though, and wouldn’t tell Ondolemar what it was. The Altmer didn’t mind much; if Ryndoril wanted to keep something secret, he trusted him thoroughly. 

“Dragonborn,” a voice called as Ryndoril perused the meat cart at the market, making him turn around.

“Yes?” Ryndoril asked, on his guard. He wasn’t used to be addressed that way, and wasn’t sure what they’d want. He turned to find an Altmer in Thalmor armor striding toward him, a letter in her hand.

“The First Emissary wished me to deliver this to Commander Ondolemar,” the Thalmor said. “May I assume he’s still traveling with you?”

“Oh,” Ryndoril said in surprise. “Sure – yeah, he is. He’s resting right now. But I can give it to him. Do the Thalmor always use agents to deliver letters?” he asked curiously, reaching out to take the letter.

“Er…yes, the Emissary does,” the Thalmor said, sounding as though she thought he was rather dim. “You don’t expect her to trust a random citizen of this country with Thalmor communications, surely?”

“Just surprised, I guess,” Ryndoril laughed. “I’ll get this to the Commander right away. Oh, uh…here,” he added, pulling some gold out of his pouch; he didn’t get couriers that often, but he knew it was polite to pay them. 

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head at him.

“I’m a soldier, not a courier,” she admonished him. “This is simply part of the job. Tell him Elinore wishes him well.”

“Okay,” Ryndoril replied, letting her walk off without saying anything else. 

He couldn’t really feel surprised; most of the Thalmor he’d met had been less than _friendly_ , after all. Deciding he was more interested in Nyslian’s response than shopping for food at the moment, he hurried back to the house.

“That was fast,” Ondolemar commented as Ryndoril came back inside.

“Got stopped by a lady friend of yours,” Ryndoril grinned. 

Ondolemar looked bewildered.

“A…what?” he asked. 

Ryndoril laughed, holding out the letter.

“Elinore says she wishes you well,” Ryndoril informed him. “She brought this from Nyslian.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Ondolemar said in understanding, opening the letter and shaking his head at the Bosmer’s teasing.

“You’re a friendly bunch, you Thalmor, you know that?” Ryndoril laughed, coming over to kiss the top of Ondolemar’s head.

“You _chose_ to be stuck with me,” Ondolemar reminded him with a bit of a smirk as he scanned the letter.

“Well, at least you’re friendlier. Around me, anyway.”

“You and no one else,” Ondolemar said. “Oh!” 

“What?” Ryndoril asked, looking over his shoulder at the letter. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes,” Ondolemar said, turning to look at Ryndoril. “Well, first…Nyslian offered her congratulations, as well as her thanks on behalf of the Thalmor, for defeating Alduin and dealing with this dragon threat.”

“My pleasure,” Ryndoril laughed. “What else?”

“Well…she’s decided to host a party, in your honor,” Ondolemar said, glancing back at the paper and seeming nervous. “It’s in a week’s time. She also says she has a surprise for me, but I don’t think it’s related.”

“A party, huh?” Ryndoril asked, raising an eyebrow. “I’ve never been to anything like that.”

“Of course not, you uncultured, wild wood elf,” Ondolemar smirked. Ryndoril laughed, shoving Ondolemar, before the Altmer continued. “It…isn’t anything terribly fancy. Nothing to worry about, really – probably similar to what Elenwen did, when she hosted the elite of Skyrim and forced me to attend.”

“Sounds fun,” Ryndoril snorted.

“Well, we both know Nyslian is no Elenwen,” Ondolemar assured him. “It shouldn’t be too bad. And frankly…you deserve to be celebrated, my love,” he added tenderly, taking Ryndoril’s hand. “You’ve accomplished so much. The world ought to acknowledge it.”

“And I couldn’t have done it at all without you, you know,” Ryndoril reminded him, squeezing his fingers. “But…okay. I guess I can suffer through this party for a night.” Ondolemar stayed quiet, leaving an awkward silence between them. “What else is there?” Ryndoril prompted. “Something’s wrong.”

“I…don’t quite know how to say this,” Ondolemar said hesitantly, seeming upset. “I just…ah…”

“Come on, love, spit it out,” Ryndoril coaxed. “What’s the matter?” 

Ondolemar paused, then sighed, holding up his left hand. His ring gleamed brightly on his finger.

“It _cannot_ be made known that I have married you,” he said, looking away from Ryndoril. “I…I feel terrible, Ryn. I love you, you must know I love you…and I wanted this! I just – “ 

He was cut off as Ryndoril pressed a finger to his lips, turning his head to look into his eyes.

“Shh,” Ryndoril said with a gentle smile. “You’re rambling, love. It’s okay, you know. I understand.”

“This isn’t fair to you,” Ondolemar insisted, kissing Ryndoril’s finger. “I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” Ryndoril said. “We discussed this before, remember? I know nothing’s changed. If we have to hide it entirely for the night – we will. You know that having you around is more important to me than anything, don’t you?” 

Ondolemar sighed, standing up and pulling Ryndoril into a close embrace.

“You are far too understanding for what I deserve,” Ondolemar informed him. 

Ryndoril grinned up at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“You deserve _everything_ ,” Ryndoril argued. “And of course I understand. There’s nothing to feel bad about. I love you. That’s good enough for me.”

“Well, there is one other thing,” Ondolemar said, glancing back at the letter now. “I don’t suppose you know how to dance?”

“Dance?” Ryndoril asked, surprised. “Uh…I don’t think I’ve ever danced in my life.” 

Ondolemar chuckled.

“I presumed as much. Well, are you willing to learn?”

“Do I have a choice?” Ryndoril asked.

“Well, I suppose as Dragonborn, you’d be entitled to do whatever you liked,” Ondolemar conceded. “But…it would be more polite if you could dance a few simple steps, at least. It’s going to be expected at the party.” 

Ryndoril thought for a moment, then shrugged.

“Are _you_ going to teach me?” he asked with a grin.

“Naturally,” Ondolemar replied smugly. He was, after all, rather accomplished himself; it came with growing up in the well-bred culture he came from.

*****

By their third lesson, Ondolemar was regretting his decision to teach Ryndoril to dance. Somehow, despite all his other good qualities, Ryndoril managed to be an absolutely _abysmal_ dancer.

“I’m sorry,” Ryndoril sighed after stepping on Ondolemar’s foot once again. “I don’t know why I’m having so much trouble with this.”

“That’s alright,” Ondolemar said, casting a quick healing spell on his toes for the seventh time that hour to ease the swelling. “Perhaps we should give it a break.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head. “Sorry about this. I don’t mean to make things difficult.”

“Relax,” Ondolemar said, a bit weary of trying to teach Ryndoril but feeling badly for making the Bosmer feel bad. “You’ll get it, my love. I know you will.” 

Ryndoril smiled at the encouragement.

*****

Ryndoril and Ondolemar began to make their way across Skyrim, heading for the Embassy; they didn’t rush, as neither was in any hurry, and simply enjoyed taking their time along the road. They made a formidable team when they came across bandit camps or wild creatures intent on attacking them. 

When they stopped in a town to rest for an evening, it was clear just how far the news of Ryndoril’s exploits had reached. Wherever they went, citizens were coming up to Ryndoril, throwing themselves at his feet – a few even propositioned him, not noticing his wedding ring. He took it all with good grace, though he didn’t exactly feel like a _hero_ ; he didn’t feel much different than he always had, really. 

Ondolemar, on the other hand, threatened to set one Imperial woman on fire if she didn’t back away from the Bosmer; he was quite tired of people falling all over his husband. 

Ryndoril snickered, amused, but told the Altmer he’d have to calm down.

“I married _you_ , didn’t I?” he said teasingly when they were alone. “The rest of them don’t matter.”

“Well, they still need to back off,” Ondolemar grumbled. 

The pair continued to practice dancing while they traveled, and Ryndoril did manage to improve. 

“You’re just that good of a teacher,” Ryndoril said fondly, managing to keep step with Ondolemar without treading on his feet this time.

“Give yourself some credit, too,” Ondolemar said, smiling. “You’re doing well.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said. “I mean…really. Imagine if I was doing this for the first time at the Embassy. I’d embarrass you and Nyslian both.”

“Probably,” Ondolemar chuckled. “But I think you’ll be fine. And anyway, it’s not like I mind much,” he added, pulling Ryndoril even closer to him. “I’m always happy for an excuse to hold you close like this.”

“You don’t need an excuse, _husband_ ,” Ryndoril teased, making Ondolemar grin in response.

*****

“Dragonborn!” Nyslian exclaimed happily, coming up to Ryndoril and hugging him in greeting. “It’s so good to see you.”

“You, too, Nys,” Ryndoril laughed, hugging her in return. 

They’d finally arrived at the Embassy in preparation for the party the following night, and Ryndoril was happy to see his friend again.

“I see where _I_ stand,” Ondolemar huffed, crossing his arms as he stared at Nyslian. 

She grinned as Ryndoril chuckled.

“Hello to you too, you old grump,” she teased, holding her hand out for him to shake, which he uncrossed his arms and did. “Welcome, both of you.”

“So what’s this surprise you’ve taunted me with?” Ondolemar asked, looking around. Everything looked quite the same as usual. 

Nyslian grinned wider.

“You’ll find out very soon, I promise,” she told him. “Right now, I’d like to speak with you both in my office.”

“Of course,” Ondolemar replied, nodding, and he and Ryndoril followed Nyslian to the Ambassador’s office.

Ryndoril looked around as he walked, feeling a bit strange being back at the Embassy. It seemed silly to him that it would bother him, considering that Elenwen was dead and Nyslian had done everything in her power to make him comfortable last time, but he couldn’t help the feeling of unease that crept over him. 

Ondolemar seemed to notice, giving him a worried look as they walked on, but didn’t say anything; it’d be better to talk about it privately later.

“Please, have a seat,” Nyslian offered, gesturing to the comfortable chairs in her office and shutting the door. 

Once in the privacy of the office, Ondolemar reached for Ryndoril’s hand, squeezing it reassuringly; it helped. 

“First,” Nyslian went on, sitting down across from the two elves, “I want to extend my sincere thanks on behalf of myself and the Thalmor for stopping the dragon threat. We are greatly in your debt, Dragonborn.”

“It’s Ryndoril,” Ryndoril said, shaking his head, but smiling slightly. “But…you’re welcome, I guess. I just did what I had to do.”

“Well, it’s impressive nonetheless,” Nyslian smiled. “And on a slightly less professional note…how in all of Tamriel did you manage it? It sounds incredible!” She sounded so excited that Ryndoril had to laugh. 

With Ondolemar’s assistance, he told the story of what they’d done the last few months since leaving the Embassy, leaving Nyslian more and more astonished as they talked.

After finishing their story, Nyslian sat in open-mouthed silence for several moments.

“I can’t believe you went to _Sovngarde_ ,” she whispered. “Everything you have accomplished…by Auri-El, Ryndoril. Part of me isn’t sure whether to believe you!” 

Ondolemar chuckled in understanding

“I probably wouldn’t, either, if I hadn’t witnessed every part of this,” he admitted. “But every word is true, Nys.”

“Amazing,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “Absolutely amazing.” She let out a breath, then turned suddenly businesslike again. “And I can’t help noticing the ring gracing your finger,” she added, smirking slightly at Ryndoril, who blushed a little. 

Ondolemar had removed his ring for their journey to the Embassy, keeping it in his pocket, but had decided it would be alright for Ryndoril to keep his on.

“Uh…yeah,” he said, glancing at Ondolemar. He wasn’t sure what he should say, though Nyslian knew about them anyway.

“Then where is yours?” she demanded of Ondolemar, looking over his hands as well. “You can’t tell me he married someone _else_.” 

Ondolemar hesitated for a moment, then squeezed Ryndoril’s hand, pulling away. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his own, matching ring.

“He did not,” Ondolemar said quietly. “We are married, yes.” 

Nyslian’s face split into a grin.

“Praise Auri-El,” she murmured. “I’m so happy for you both. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Ryndoril said, grinning too. 

Ondolemar still looked hesitant.

“Nys…I trust you will not say anything,” he said softly, worry coloring his tone. “You…you know this cannot get out.” 

Nyslian shook her head.

“Of course I wouldn’t,” she replied. “But…I don’t believe you need to be that worried over it. You deserve your happiness, Ondolemar,” she insisted. “You’ve been through enough. Both of you,” she added, looking at Ryndoril too. “I can hardly believe it. You both deserve this so much.” She gave a happy sigh. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was kind of a last minute thing,” Ryndoril said with a laugh. “You know Ondolemar. He proposed, and three days later…”

“ _He_ proposed?” Nyslian asked, shocked. “You’re joking, Ryndoril. _Ondolemar_ proposed to you?”

“Not joking,” Ryndoril grinned, looking at Ondolemar again. “I _think_ he was happy to see me again.”

“Relieved beyond belief,” Ondolemar agreed, tucking his ring back into his pocket. He kept it next to the dragon scale he always carried. “I couldn’t help myself.” 

Nyslian laughed heartily.

“You’ll never fail to surprise me, will you?” she teased Ondolemar. “Well, good for you, Commander. I’m glad you did.”

Just then, there was a knock on the office door, and Ondolemar immediately moved away from Ryndoril so they weren’t so obviously close together.

“Come in,” Nyslian called, and the door opened. To Ondolemar’s great surprise, Ancano stepped inside. “Ancano, good,” she smiled.

“You requested a meeting, I believe?” Ancano said, a smirk playing at his mouth.

“I did,” Nyslian agreed, and nodded toward Ondolemar and Ryndoril. “We have visitors.”

“Ondolemar!” Ancano said happily, quite surprised as well. Ondolemar stood up to shake the other mer’s hand. “It’s good to see you, my friend.”

“And you as well,” Ondolemar replied. “What in Nirn are you doing here?”

“Surprise,” Nyslian laughed, making Ondolemar look at her in confusion. “This is what I was referring to. Ancano has agreed to be my Second Emissary.”

“How wonderful,” Ondolemar said sincerely. “Congratulations on the promotion, friend.” 

“Thank you,” Ancano replied proudly. “I just got lucky she wanted an idiot like me around.”

“ _That’s_ probably more shocking than the rest of it,” Ondolemar smirked. 

The two had been friends when they were younger, but Nyslian was perpetually impatient at Ancano’s behavior. 

“I hear you’ve been tasked with something rather important as well,” Ancano said. “Escorting the Dragonborn?”

“Ah, yes,” Ondolemar said, having forgotten himself in the shock of seeing Ancano. He turned to Ryndoril, who got to his feet, and Ondolemar gestured to him. “This is – “

“Ryndoril,” Ancano said, eyes widening. “You?”

“Yeah,” Ryndoril replied, stepping forward. “Hi, Ancano.” 

Ancano started to laugh.

“Well, I see why you were drawn to him,” Ancano said, still chuckling. “Hired mercenary, indeed!”

“You two know each other?” Nyslian asked, surprised.

“We’ve met,” Ancano nodded, still grinning. “When Ondolemar came to me at the College…well, he apparently hadn’t wanted to travel alone, so he hired a mercenary to accompany him. I should’ve known there was something special about that Bosmer!”

“Yes, dear, you’re very smart,” Nyslian laughed, coming over to Ancano and kissing his cheek. 

Ondolemar’s eyes widened in shock.

“ _Dear_?” he asked incredulously. “When did _this_ happen?” 

Ancano chuckled.

“Well, she was here when you brought me back from Winterhold,” Ancano explained, his cheeks slightly pink. “She…helped get me through the aftereffects of the possession. And we kept in contact when I went back to Alinor.”

“And then I decided I wanted him around, so I asked him to be my second Emissary,” Nyslian said teasingly. “Turns out, he’s a lot less insufferable these days.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ondolemar smirked. Ancano gave him a dirty look. “Well, I’m happy for you both,” he said sincerely. “Forgive me, Nys, but it has been rather a long journey. Would you mind if we were to rest a while?”

“Of course,” Nyslian replied with a smile. “If the Dragonborn is still amenable to sharing a room with you, you can stay in the Third Emissary’s room again.”

“And if you’re tired of him after dragging him around Skyrim,” Ancano added with a grin, “there _are_ other rooms available, Dragonborn.” 

It was Ondolemar’s turn to give a dirty look now, but Ryndoril laughed.

“I don’t know, I can probably still tolerate him,” he replied.

“Go on then,” Nyslian said, waving them off. “We shall see you at dinner. Let my guards know if you require anything before then.”

“Thank you, Nyslian,” Ondolemar said, nodding at her. “Good to see you again,” he added, clapping Ancano on the shoulder as he walked past, Ryndoril following.

Neither said anything on the way up to the room, both waiting until they were safely inside with the door shut before risking anything.

“Are you alright?” they asked one another at the same time, making both of them laugh.

“I’m fine,” Ryndoril said, blushing a little. “Sorry. I just…being back here. It’s a little weird.”

“I understand,” Ondolemar said softly, squeezing Ryndoril’s shoulder. “And yes, I’m fine…why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, you seemed a little…awkward with Ancano,” Ryndoril said, putting his arms around Ondolemar. “Especially when you found out he’s with Nyslian.” 

Ondolemar laughed at that.

“If you’d known the two of them when we were younger, you’d have found it odd, too,” he assured the Bosmer, before turning more serious. “But no…I really am fine. I…” he trailed off, looking awkward.

“What is it? Tell me, love,” Ryndoril murmured.

“It was strange,” Ondolemar said softly. “Seeing him with her. Seeing them together. But…I don’t mind.” He gave a soft smile. “I have you, after all.” Ryndoril grinned.

“That you do,” he agreed.

*****

Ryndoril and Ondolemar were careful to avoid acting in any way that was suspicious; Ryndoril had a feeling that Ancano wouldn’t care any more than Nyslian about the two of them, but he knew how Ondolemar felt about it and didn’t see any sense in pushing.

It was still strange to be back at the Embassy, but Ryndoril was having a good time; the food was rather good, at least, and he’d forgotten just how much more open and talkative Ondolemar was around his own friends. It was good to see him that way.

As the three Altmer talked during dinner, Ryndoril became lost in his own thoughts. Though his main reason for going to Riften had indeed been marrying Ondolemar, he’d also made another decision. He was going to purchase some property in the Rift, near a particularly beautiful waterfall he knew Ondolemar would like…and he had enlisted the Guild’s help in getting a house built there. 

He knew Delvin had enough connections that he’d be a great help, and the old man had been more than happy to do what he could for Ryndoril. No one else had the connections the Guild had, and he knew he could trust his friends; after explaining what was to be done, he was confident the place would get finished. It would take time, it was true, but he was very much looking forward to showing it off to Ondolemar. He decided he’d call it a wedding present.

“Dragonborn, are you still with us?” a teasing voice broke into his thoughts, and Ryndoril shook himself back to reality, realizing Ancano was smirking at him. He laughed, reddening slightly.

“Sorry,” he said. “Just a bit tired. Saving the world’s hard work, you know.” 

Nyslian and Ancano laughed, though Ondolemar looked at him with some concern.

“Perhaps it’s best if you get some sleep,” Ondolemar said. “You’ll want to be well-rested for a party in your honor, after all.”

“Oh yeah,” Ryndoril grinned. “It _is_ all about me, isn’t it?”

“And I see the Commander’s conceit has infected you, as well,” Ancano said dryly. 

Ondolemar made a noise of protest.

“Believe me, Ancano, that conceit was all there in the first place,” he huffed.

“He’s right,” Ryndoril agreed, grinning. “But yeah…I probably should get some rest. It was good seeing you again,” he added to the other two. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Rest well,” Nyslian smiled at him. “The Embassy is at your service; you know you need only find a guard for anything you need.”

“Thanks, Nys,” Ryndoril grinned, yawning. “Good night.”

He headed out of the room and upstairs, Ondolemar following behind him only a moment later.

“It’s still my job to take care of you,” Ondolemar said with a slight smirk, and Ryndoril shook his head, amused. 

Upon returning to their room, Ryndoril sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh. 

“Are you alright, Ryn?” Ondolemar asked in concern, sitting next to him.

“Fine,” Ryndoril smiled tentatively at him. “Just…a little self-conscious, I guess.”

“About the party?” Ondolemar asked. “You’ll be fine, Ryn – it’s just in celebration of your accomplishments. Nothing to worry about.”

“It still feels weird being celebrated,” Ryndoril laughed. “But mostly…I’m still not very good at dancing.”

“Nonsense,” Ondolemar replied, only stretching the truth a little. “You’ve improved a good deal, and you are certainly good enough to make it through the party, I assure you.”

“Thanks, but I know you’re lying,” Ryndoril laughed, pushing him gently.

“I am not,” Ondolemar insisted, affronted. At a look from Ryndoril, though, he reconsidered. “Alright, I’m not _entirely_ lying. You have improved, Ryn; you know that. And you will be fine at the party. You’re the Dragonborn, remember; you get more of a pass than anyone else would. You’ve saved the world.” 

“I guess so,” Ryndoril replied, starting to take off his boots and get ready for bed. “It’s so strange, everyone talking about me like that. I really don’t feel different, you know.” 

Ondolemar was quiet, and Ryndoril could sense the Altmer watching him. He turned to look. 

“What?”

“You _are_ a hero, Ryn,” Ondolemar said softly. “You have done great things. You deserve this recognition.” 

Ryndoril sighed as he sat back down.

“I just…don’t want to be treated like that,” he said. “Ancano, insisting on calling me ‘Dragonborn’. Everyone…revering me. I liked being with the Guild – they didn’t treat me any different. I don’t want to be _different_.” He paused, glancing at Ondolemar. “I don’t want _you_ to think I’m different.” 

Ondolemar frowned at him.

“I don’t,” Ondolemar said slowly. “I…Ryn, I’ve always thought you were incredible. I’m far more in awe of what you survived here…in this very Embassy,” he added softly, putting his hand over Ryndoril’s. “I’m prouder of you than I could possibly say, but…” he broke off, looking into Ryndoril’s eyes. “I do not revere you as a great hero,” he said softly. “I love you…as my partner in every way.” 

Ryndoril grinned at him at that, his eyes crinkling in the way Ondolemar loved.

“Thanks, love,” he murmured. “I love you, too.” He leaned in to kiss Ondolemar, and the Altmer returned it enthusiastically, but broke off too soon.

“None of that,” Ondolemar breathed harshly. “We can’t…not tonight. I’m afraid to risk being heard.” 

Ryndoril laughed.

“Alright, if you insist,” he teased. “But I’m going to make you make it up to me, next time we’re alone.”

“That, my dear Bosmer, is a promise,” Ondolemar assured him with a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I feel bad about this, but here goes. I want to thank one of my readers for the idea of Nyslian & Ancano ending up together; this was a plan that came about a LONG time ago. The trouble is, I haven't spoken to this person in *so long* that I don't even remember her name anymore :'( So if you are reading this, THANK YOU, and I'm sorry I'm a horrible person with a terrible memory :P


	15. Chapter 15

The day of the party, the Embassy was a flurry of commotion. Nyslian and Ancano were seeing to their duty by greeting guests and ensuring the food and drink were situated. The guards and other attending staff were occupied with cleaning and arranging everything. 

There was nothing for Ondolemar and Ryndoril to do, so they chose to stay in their room and give Ryndoril a bit more dancing practice. He was feeling slightly nervous about the evening, but Ondolemar assured him he’d be alright.

“I’d feel better if I could dance with you,” Ryndoril smirked as Ondolemar swept him around. 

Ondolemar gave him a small smile.

“I’d love little more, Ryn,” he said. “But that would certainly cause awkward speculation.”

“What about the Dragonborn being able to do what he wants?” Ryndoril asked with a grin, and Ondolemar chuckled.

“You could get away with more than most, yes,” he agreed. “However, I’m not sure I could be trusted to contain myself, having you in my arms like this.” 

As though to prove the point, he pulled Ryndoril closer and kissed him hard. Ryndoril laughed.

“Alright, fair enough,” he agreed.

*****

The party wasn’t bad, really, Ryndoril thought. The food and drink were good, and there was something special about being celebrated in such a way. He’d even managed to dance decently with anyone who’d asked him, which made him feel better.

“Is this what Elenwen’s were like?” Ryndoril asked as he sat at a table with Ondolemar, drinking a bottle of spiced wine. “This isn’t so bad.”

“Hardly,” Ondolemar snorted. “There aren’t as many Nords here. And none of them are as insufferable.” Ryndoril laughed. “It isn’t all that dull, though. Not like hers were.”

“Is that a compliment for my party throwing skill?” Nyslian asked, grinning as she came up to them. 

Ondolemar snorted.

“You could call it that, I suppose,” he said. “You could’ve done worse.”

“That’s close enough to a compliment,” Nyslian said, shaking her head. “Ryndoril, I actually came over here for you. Care to honor the Ambassador with a dance?” 

Ryndoril smiled at her while Ondolemar tried to hide a smirk of amusement.

“I can try,” Ryndoril said, getting to his feet. 

Ondolemar watched them out to the middle of the floor, feeling an odd twinge of jealousy. He wasn’t immediately sure why; he knew Ryndoril didn’t have feelings for Nyslian, and she certainly didn’t have them for the Bosmer, either. He didn’t know why it should bother him.

As he watched them dance, however, he realized… _he_ wanted to be the one dancing with the elf. _He_ wanted to be the one holding Ryndoril close, for all to see; _he_ wanted to be able to laugh with him. To enjoy his company…without being afraid of making anyone suspicious.

But how could he? Their relationship would never be accepted. Not by the Thalmor. Not by the Dominion.

What if he didn’t care? What if he didn’t care about the Dominion or…or any of it? Dammit, he’d found something _real_ with Ryndoril. Why should he have to hide it? Was he not allowed happiness?

All at once, he made up his mind. Slipping his hidden wedding ring out of his pocket and onto his finger, he got to his feet and strode purposefully over to where Ryndoril was dancing with Nyslian.

“Pardon me,” Ondolemar said quietly, tapping Nyslian on the shoulder. 

She turned to look at him in surprise. One glance at his face was enough to tell her exactly what he wanted; his gaze was nearly burning through Ryndoril. She smiled and stepped aside, letting go of the Bosmer.

“Ondolemar,” Ryndoril said in surprise as the Altmer took his hand, placing his other on the smaller elf’s waist. “I thought you said – “

“I don’t care,” Ondolemar said, his tone firm as he swept the Bosmer across the dance floor, ignoring the other couples and keeping Ryndoril steady.

“But people are watching us,” Ryndoril reminded him, gazing up into Ondolemar’s face. The Altmer looked more serious than he ever had.

“I don’t care,” Ondolemar said again, more vehemently.

“Aren’t you worried there’ll be trouble?” Ryndoril asked, still anxious – he didn’t want anything to happen to them tonight. “I mean, I don’t mind, but – “

“I don’t _care_ ,” Ondolemar said. “I love you, and I don’t give a damn who knows it. Auri-El himself couldn’t keep me away from you, Ryndoril.” He brought the Bosmer’s finger, bearing its own matching ring, to his lips, brushing them softly against it. 

Ryndoril’s expression turned from shock to utter happiness.

“I love you, too,” Ryndoril replied, unable to stop grinning. At which point, he promptly tripped over Ondolemar’s feet. His face reddened, but the Altmer merely snorted in amusement.

“You know, for such a coordinated archer, you do make a terrible dancer,” Ondolemar told him, steadying him and keeping him from falling.

“Maybe I had a terrible teacher,” Ryndoril teased. 

Ondolemar merely rolled his eyes.

“You, dear husband, are an awful liar,” Ondolemar commented. 

Ryndoril shivered with pleasure at the term ‘husband’ – it still gave him a thrill every time, but hearing it from Ondolemar’s lips while surrounded by all these people…it was so much more special.

“Does that mean you’re all right with everyone knowing we’re married?” Ryndoril asked hopefully. “We don’t have to hide it?” 

Ondolemar twisted his hand to show Ryndoril that he was wearing his ring.

“I shall not hide you away as though I am ashamed of you,” Ondolemar said firmly. “And I sincerely apologize for attempting to. It was never the right thing to do.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Ryndoril said softly, moving a little closer to the taller mer as they danced. “I understand all of it, my love. I always have.”

“And that, my dearest Ryn, is why you are so perfect,” Ondolemar murmured. He couldn’t stop himself from bending down slightly to kiss the elf’s forehead. He was a little anxious at the idea of the others watching, but with Ryndoril in his arms, it just didn’t matter.

*****

Nyslian walked over to Ancano, standing by the bar. He had a look of mild surprise on his face, deepening as they watched Ondolemar kiss Ryndoril’s hand.

“Did you know about this?” Ancano asked her, staring at the pair.

“I did,” Nyslian said, smiling at them. “Aren’t they beautiful together?”

“I – “ Ancano couldn’t seem to find words. “Well, _that_ explains a lot,” he finally said, letting out a breath.

“I warn you, my dear, if you intend to make trouble for them, I will make trouble for you,” Nyslian informed him protectively.

“No, no, of course not,” Ancano replied, still full of surprise. “I just…well, I suppose I should have seen it. But it isn’t as though he was managing to find a female to settle with, anyway. And it _is_ the hero of Tamriel.”

“Indeed,” Nyslian laughed, taking Ancano’s hand.

“How long?” Ancano wanted to know.

“Well, I found out the day Ondolemar killed Elenwen,” Nyslian said. “You should have seen him; it was utterly obvious how much he cared for Ryndoril.”

“So _that’s_ why he killed her,” Ancano mused. “Not that I blamed him, but it did seem that he’d gone a little far.”

“It’s never too far when you’re in love,” Nyslian said softly, still watching the two dancing closer now.

“No,” Ancano agreed. “I suppose he deserves happiness after all this time.”

“As do you,” Nyslian smiled, turning to him then. 

He smiled back faintly.

“Me?” he replied. “Weak, broken, possessed old me?”

“You are none of those things,” Nyslian laughed, the tinkling sound making Ancano smile more fully. She squeezed his hand where she held it. “You are strong, whole, and entirely yourself. And I love yourself.”

“Then perhaps you’re mad,” Ancano replied, putting his arm around her and squeezing her to him. “Lucky for me.” 

She leaned over to kiss him, and only pulled away when the music stopped. She saw Ondolemar heading toward her then, Ryndoril’s hand firmly clasped in his own as the Bosmer couldn’t stop grinning.

“Hello,” Nyslian said to them, beaming at them both. Ondolemar looked oddly serious in contrast with the Bosmer’s happy smile.

“First Emissary,” Ondolemar said, anxious but determined, “I have something to say.”

“Go on,” Nyslian said, looking at him in confusion. He hardly ever addressed her like that. 

Ondolemar took a deep breath.

“I am done,” he said in a rush, as though the words couldn’t come out fast enough. “I am finished. I can no longer serve the Thalmor.” He paused then, seeming relieved that he’d said the words. “I will forever remain loyal to the Dominion,” he added. “But this cannot be my life anymore. I –“ he swallowed hard before he was able to continue. “This is my life now,” he finished, wrapping an arm firmly around Ryndoril. “I am resigning.” 

Ryndoril was the first of the three to find his voice.

“Ondolemar,” he spoke up, a bit shakily, “are you…sure about this? I don’t – you don’t need to do this to be with me.”

“I realize that,” Ondolemar said, the same determined note in his voice. “But this – this is what must be done.”

“Well,” Nyslian finally said. She cleared her throat. “You realize that you are not technically…er…allowed to do that.” 

Ondolemar narrowed his eyes at her; she’d rarely seen him like this before.

“I have just assisted the Dragonborn in saving all of Tamriel,” Ondolemar said harshly. “The Dragonborn, may I remind you, who has dragons at his beck and call.”

“He has a point,” Ancano said, sounding more shocked than the rest. “This isn’t a case of deserting, Nys. He’s more than paid his time.”

“Nys, don’t let him do it if there’ll be trouble,” Ryndoril said urgently, looking worried. “You – you can’t let anything happen to him.”

“It won’t,” Nyslian said at once. She’d told Ancano she’d make trouble for him if he messed with the two; how could _she_ think to? And her lover was right, anyway – Ondolemar had done plenty for the Dominion and for Tamriel. It was high time he got to be happy. She shook her head decisively. “Of course it won’t, Ryndoril, do not worry. Ancano is correct. Ondolemar…I accept your resignation.”

“Thank you,” Ondolemar said, his relief evident. “And thank you, my friend,” he added to Ancano. “I…I know this is a bit unusual…” 

Ancano just shook his head in amazement.

“I am simply glad that you have found happiness, Ondolemar,” Ancano said seriously. “I never imagined it would be in…this form…but I suppose you could do worse than the Dragonborn,” he added with a smirk.

“I couldn’t do better than Ryndoril if I tried a hundred years,” Ondolemar said softly, turning his gaze back to his lover. “He is all I’ve ever wanted.” 

Ryndoril grinned at him. A lifetime ahead of him with Ondolemar always at his side? Yes, he’d take that as his prize for saving the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we're there! Thanks for reading, thanks for liking it, thanks for the support - I appreciate you all *so* much. I really hope you enjoyed.
> 
> Fun fact #2: The last part of this has been written almost since the very beginning; it's one of the first things I put down, and the last sentence has *been* the last sentence since I started. I'm very glad to finally be able to share it with you all. <3

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and/or kudos are always greatly appreciated. Also, come find me on  Tumblr  if you'd like!


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